


Rise of the Champion

by Lightning4119



Series: Rise [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Non-canon Character Death, Novelization, non-canon character survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2020-09-29 10:49:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 233,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20434736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightning4119/pseuds/Lightning4119
Summary: The Tale of the Champion is well-known, at least the way Varric tells it. The Champion started as a refugee and rose from poverty to save Kirkwall time and again. But what really happened? Well, all we have is what Varric says, so strap in and hope he's telling the truth.A novelization of Dragon Age 2.





	1. The Fall of Lothering

**Author's Note:**

> It took a while, but I'm finally posting Rise of the Champion. The chapters are going to be shorter at first, but they'll be growing in size as we go on.

_Hawke  
_ _The daughter of Malcolm Hawke and Leandra Amell, Dana Hawke has lived in many places throughout Ferelden. Her father was a mage whose gifts were passed onto both Dana and Bethany, Malcolm's younger daughter. Malcolm refused to submit himself to the Chantry's rule; he kept his abilities a secret and taught his daughters to do the same. Therefore, the family was constantly on the move to avoid Templar hunters. Ten years ago, the family settled in the village of Lothering, building a home on the outskirts and making a life where they wouldn't forever be on the run. Though Leandra worried constantly that the templars would one day catch up with them, Malcolm's teachings were sufficient to keep them safe._

_He died three years ago, leaving Dana responsible for the welfare of her mother and younger siblings. When the Blight began, Carver enlisted in King Cailan's regiment, saying the horde spilling from the Korcari Wilds meant their home would be quickly overrun if the darkspawn were not defeated immediately. Dana remained in Lothering to safeguard the family. Carver appeared on their doorstep almost a month later, exhausted and injured. King Cailan had been betrayed and slain at Ostagar, and the horde was advancing on Lothering. Though Hawke and the others were making plans to leave, they fled their home before they were fully prepared... and it may still be too late._

—ROTC—

The rise of the Champion of Kirkwall was shrouded in mystery and legend, in no small part due to her next…appointment, the woman thought. But nobody could question the fact that the Champion was at the heart of events that would change the world. She studied the portrait on the wall as she heard footsteps approaching, along with the familiar sound of boots dragging along the ground. The Champion was a handsome woman, if not particularly beautiful – tanned skin, a shock of black hair brushed across her forehead over deep brown eyes, and oddly enough, a smear of red kaddis across the bridge of her nose. Peering closer, she frowned as she noticed that the smear appeared to have been added _after _the portrait had been made. Rather crudely, at that.

The room was darkened. The house had been abandoned when her investigation team had arrived, but she had made no attempt to light any of the sconces around the room, preferring a single candle on the table. All part of the plan.

Her men slung her next appointment into the chair, the dwarf grunting in pain as he landed. She opened the tome she had been cradling, glancing at the renditions of the Champion’s companions. She had long since memorized their faces, but it felt reassuring to see them again, as if there was some detail, some fact she might have missed. Some truth.

“I’ve had gentler invitations,” the dwarf rasped, rubbing blood from his eyebrow.

The woman snapped the book closed, striding out of the darkness. “I am Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of the Chantry.” She jerked her head at the door, and her men nodded, leaving without a word.

The dwarf chuckled dryly, but she noticed his eyes tracked one of her men as he left. Clearly Robert had been rougher than necessary on the dwarf. “And just…what are you seeking?”

“The Champion.”

The dwarf glanced at his hands nonchalantly, rubbing the trace of blood away between the fingertips of his gloves. “Which one?”

“You know exactly why I’m here!” Cassandra snapped, storming forward and pitching the dwarf’s own book at his face. It landed on the dwarf’s lap and fell open to the page she had been viewing, and she drew her dagger, the edge hovering near his neck. The dwarf’s breath caught in his throat. “Time to start talking, dwarf. They tell me you’re good at it.” He grunted as she spun the blade, stabbing it through the book inches away from his crotch.

The dwarf picked up the book, examining the damage to it and marveling how close he had come to permanent injury. Or perhaps lamenting the loss of a good book. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Start at the beginning.”

—ROTC—

The darkspawn swarmed across the landscape, an unstoppable tide that would not break as it overran fleeing refugees.

But one pair were not fleeing by any sense of the term. A violet bolt flattened a hurlock, and the others in the clutch of darkspawn turned, spotting the Champion and her brother standing there, waiting for them. The Champion strode forward, calmly incinerating another hurlock with a gesture as her brother bisected another darkspawn, and stood on the blade the first downed hurlock was reaching for. The creature screeched at her before she ignited its flesh, her brother kneeling over the burning darkspawn with a distasteful scowl. “Scouts,” he snarled. “We will have to fight them sooner or later.”

“Then we make our stand here,” the Champion declared sagely as a dozen more darkspawn approached. “Prepare yourself.”

The two engaged, solitary figures against the encroaching horde. The Champion’s bolts of fire annihilated darkspawn after darkspawn as her brother hacked others into pieces, the mage twisting at the waist and planting a spear of ice through the back of a hurlock about to blindside her brother moments before the man offhandedly chopped the darkspawn in half without noticing until the pieces hit the ground. “We can’t keep this up forever,” her brother warned.

“We’ll make it through this – together,” the Champion said reassuringly.

Her brother smirked, nodding. “Here they come. Shall I give them a taste of my blade?”

“All yours, brother,” the Champion replied.

In seconds, the hurlocks were reduced to bloody chunks, but more came. The Champion wielded elemental forces as if they were a child’s playthings, storms of ice and fire ripping through the darkspawn as her brother spun and hacked his way through opponent after opponent. The ground shook as an ogre charged, and her brother rolled out of the way as the Champion mustered her magic, a pair of giant spectral hands appearing and seizing the ogre’s arms before literally ripping it limb from limb.

More darkspawn charged, and her brother rolled his neck. “There’s no end to them…” There was an ear-rending shriek, and the darkspawn paused, spotting a dragon perched upon a nearby cliff. The creature shrieked again and dove, spewing fire from its maw…

—ROTC—

“Bullshit!” Cassandra snapped. “That’s not what really happened!”

“Does that not match the story you’ve heard, Seeker?” the dwarf asked coyly.

“I’m not interested in stories. I came to hear the truth!”

“What makes you think I know the truth?”

Again, Cassandra got in his face. “Don’t lie to me! You knew her even before she became the Champion!”

The dwarf held up his hands placatingly. “Even if I did, I don’t know where she is now.”

“Do you have any idea what’s at stake here?” Cassandra asked.

“Let me guess,” the dwarf asked acidly. “Your precious Chantry’s fallen to pieces and put the entire world on the brink of war? And you need the one person that you think could help you put it back together.”

“The Champion was at the heart of it when it all began. If you can’t point me to her, tell me you everything you know.”

“You aren’t worried I’ll just make it up as I go?” the dwarf asked.

“Not at all,” Cassandra said flatly.

The dwarf smirked, pressing his hands in front of his face. “You’ll need to hear the whole story.” Cassandra had the vague impression the balance of power in the room had shifted as the dwarf began to talk. “The Blight had been unleashed on Ferelden. Darkspawn poured out of the wilds, clashing against the army at the ruins of Ostagar. The battle was a disaster. King Cailan died on the field with his men, betrayed by his most trusted general. Unopposed, the horde marched on the village of Lothering. The village burned, and many innocents were slaughtered. The Champion’s family barely escaped in time.”

—ROTC—

It wasn’t the first time they had had to leave a village in a hurry, Hawke thought, but it was the first time that they had had company. Most of Lothering was fleeing northwards trying to outpace the darkspawn horde that had broken through the King’s army at Ostagar. The Hawke family had lingered, hoping that one of their number had survived the rout, and had been one of the last families to leave. And while she would never, ever admit it to him, Hawke’s heart had soared when Carver showed up at their house, battered and winded, but alive.

Of course, the downside to lingering so long meant the darkspawn were all too close behind as the family ran with little more than the clothes on their backs. Hawke had claimed her father’s old tunic and staff, but beyond that very little of what they had managed to accumulate in Lothering had come along with them.

And as Hawke shoulder-checked her sister out of the way and incinerated a darkspawn with a bolt of lightning, she realized they had left too late. They were almost certainly at or just ahead of the horde’s front line. With the Hinterlands ahead and nothing but darkspawn behind, they were getting overtaken with no sign of help.

But they had what mattered, Hawke thought – Bethany, Hawke’s mother, the dog, and Carver. Granted, they also had a half-dozen hurlocks chasing them, but her father had always said it was best to handle one issue at a time.

However, the most pressing issue was that Hawke’s mother had just collapsed. The woman was in fine shape for her age, but they had been running almost nonstop for the better part of an hour, and the woman had fallen to her knees, panting. “Mother!” Bethany cried, turning. Hawke, leading the way, was behind her. Hawke’s sister barked out a battle cry, sending a wall of flame up between the humans and the darkspawn. Two hurlocks charged through the flames, one smashed across the face by Hawke and other hacked apart by Carver.

“I think that’s all of them,” Carver panted as Bethany helped their mother to her feet.

“For the moment,” Bethany replied.

“Maker save us, we’ve lost it all,” their mother moaned. “Everything your father and I built…”

“We’ve got what matters,” Hawke pressed. “I know how much Lothering meant to you, but we have to move.”

“Yes, you’re right,” their mother said.

“We should have run sooner,” Bethany groaned. “Why did we wait so long?”

“Why are you looking at me?” Carver asked defensively. “I’ve been running since Ostagar!”

“Listen, you two,” Hawke interjected. “The darkspawn could be on us any minute.”

“Please, listen to your sister,” their mother urged.

The group pushed on, cutting their way past dead refugees and the darkspawn that had killed the others fleeing Lothering’s destruction, making their way through narrow passes towards the Bannorn.

“Wait,” Bethany finally called, bringing them to a halt. “Where are we going?”

“Away from the darkspawn,” Carver replied. “Where else?”

“And then where?” Bethany challenged. “We can’t just wander aimlessly!”

“As long as we wander _away_ from the darkspawn, I’m all right with that,” Hawke said. “Wherever we go, what’s important is we stay together. Don’t get separated.”

“We can go to Kirkwall,” their mother spoke up.

“Kirkwall?” Hawke echoed. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“There’s a lot of Templars in Kirkwall, Mother,” Bethany murmured.

“I know that, but we still have family there, and an estate,” their mother pressed.

Bethany sighed. “Then we need to get to Gwaren and take ship. Kirkwall’s across the Waking Sea.”

“If we survive that long,” Carver said glumly. “I’ll just be happy to get out of here.”

“You’ll make it,” Hawke replied. “You made it out of Ostagar, you can survive anything.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Carver grumbled. Their dog growled, and Carver rolled his neck. “Great. More darkspawn. Come on.”

“Carver, wait,” Hawke called after him, but the young man was moving on, drawing his greatsword again and planting himself firmly between them and his family.

By now, the little group had killed many times their number in darkspawn. _How many more can there be? _Hawke wondered, smashing a darkspawn across the face and hearing another squawk in pain as Bethany crushed its skull with the weight at the end of her staff.

It was only then that Hawke realized that they weren’t alone. Less than twenty yards away, another couple – a man and a woman – were fighting another clutch of darkspawn. Hawke’s heart leapt at the possibility of strength in numbers, only to plummet a moment later when she recognized the flaming sword of Templar armor. One of the Templars – no, the only Templar, Hawke realized, as the woman turned, revealing light Fereldan army-issue leathers similar to what Carver was wearing. The woman wielded her arming sword with both hands, battering a darkspawn’s guard aside and slashing its throat open with a carefully aimed strike. The Templar parried a strike from a darkspawn before stabbing it through a gap in its makeshift armor, only to be blindsided across the back of his arm by another hurlock. The darkspawn advanced as the man fell to his knees, the Templar scrambling away from the creature and cradling his wounded arm.

The woman bellowed out a berserker yell and tackled the darkspawn advancing on her companion, dragging it to the ground and punching it in the face repeatedly. “You will _not _have him!” She shouted, grabbing her dropped sword and shearing the hurlock’s head off. Grabbing her companion’s dropped shield, she helped him to his feet. “They will not have you,” she said softly, standing between him and the darkspawn. “Not while I breathe.”

“Suppose we ought to be neighborly,” Hawke mumbled, before incinerating the nearest darkspawn with a bolt of lightning. Carver’s jaw dropped at her flagrant use of magic in front of a Templar, and Bethany set her jaw, incinerating a cluster of darkspawn with a fireball as their hound ripped a hurlock’s throat out, the dog keeping close to their mother.

“So I guess we’re just not hiding it anymore, are we?” Carver called acidly as he stove in the last hurlock’s skull with a blow from his sword.

“Stop squirming, Wesley, you’ll make it worse,” the woman was urging.

The man pushed himself to his feet, snarling at the Hawke family. “Apostate, keep your distance.”

“Well, the Maker has a sense of humor,” Bethany deadpanned. “Darkspawn, and now a Templar. I thought they all abandoned Lothering.”

“No, just its people,” Hawke replied.

“The ‘spawn are clear in their intent, but a mage is always unknown,” the Templar said, clearly reciting some standing orders. “The Order dictates…”

“Wesley,” the woman said softly.

“The _Order _dictates,” the man went on, clearly intending to speak over her, only for Hawke to step into his personal space. Hawke had never fought a Templar before, but she reckoned she stood a good chance against one who couldn’t even lift his sword. And if it came down to it, she would stand between Bethany and the Maker Himself.

“You can barely stand as it is,” Hawke growled. “You really want me to plant you six feet under the nearest hill? Because I _will_ oblige you if you so much as look at her wrong. You just compared mages to the darkspawn – don’t pretend you have the moral high ground here.”

“Dear, they saved us,” the woman pointed out as Hawke and Wesley stared each other down. “The Maker understands.”

Finally, the man sagged. “Of course.”

“I am Aveline Vallen,” the woman introduced herself. “This is my husband, Ser Wesley. We can hate each other when we’re safe from the horde.”

“You’re quick to offer your allegiance, especially to an _apostate_,” Hawke said suspiciously.

“Another blade between us and the darkspawn?” Carver pointed out. “Yes please.”

“What, are you getting tired?” Hawke asked. “You’ve only been running and fighting for days.”

“So long as the horde is their first concern,” Bethany allowed.

“My duty is clear,” Wesley said, and Hawke’s glare intensified. “But that is for another day, if we are granted that opportunity.”

“Like you wife said, he can try to arrest us when we’re away from here,” Hawke replied to Aveline, relaxing marginally. Her eyes never left Wesley’s. “A strange time to be hunting apostates. His fellows left with the Chantry priests.”

“I was traveling to Denerim on business for the Order, but I had to turn south when I heard of Ostagar.”

“Bad luck – and judgement – brought us together here before the attack,” Aveline added.

“Sister, the nice Templar has been convinced to postpone his hunt for illegal mages,” Bethany said. “So let’s not dwell upon it, shall we?”

“Wise girl,” Aveline replied.

“Fair enough,” Hawke muttered. “For a while it looked like we were the only ones to escape the darkspawn. It’s good to see a face that isn’t covered in darkspawn filth and blood.”

“We aren’t free of them yet,” Carver pointed out. “You didn’t see Ostagar. This is just the start.”

“You were there too?” Aveline asked. “Yes, I see it now. Third company, under Captain Varel.”

“Then you saw how the whole of the army was defeated,” Carver said bitterly.

“We fell to betrayal, not the darkspawn,” Aveline snapped. “This arm of the horde will not have the same advantage.”

“Well, provided your dog here can put away his vendetta,” Hawke said. “Can he keep up? We have to move.”

“I may be injured, but I am far from helpless,” Wesley replied.

“North is cut off,” Aveline interjected, trying to prevent things from escalating. “We barely escaped the main body of the horde.”

“Then we’re trapped,” Carver growled. “The Wilds are to the south, that’s no way out. The darkspawn are coming from the Wilds anyway.”

“We have no choice,” Hawke replied. “The darkspawn have us fenced in. We have to go south. We can’t cut our way through the entire horde.”

“Do you have names?” Aveline asked.

“Dana Hawke,” Hawke introduced herself. “That’s Bethany, Carver, and our mother, Leandra.”

"What's the hound's name?" Aveline asked.

"Ser Wagtail," Hawke replied.

Aveline looked over in surprise. "Really?"

Carver sighed. "He also answers to Hopper."

"Yes, but my little sister called him Ser Wagtail all the time when she was younger, so the name stuck."

The group pushed on, heading east on old trails and hardly able to tell where they were going. Everything was burned or burning, and nothing looked familiar, covered in bloated corpses and darkspawn filth. Small patrols of darkspawn scouts attacked them again and again, but they kept moving, taking just long enough to bandage a wound or catch their breath after the latest brush with death before moving on.

It was only a matter of time before one of them would fall, but Hawke would have given anything for it to not have happened.

They had reached a widened point on the trail, an open space where hunters would have made camp in happier times. The ground seemed to shake as a massive creature stormed their way, a thick crown of horns stretching back from the top of its head.

“Ogre!” Carver shouted. “Get out of its way!”

Wesley and Hawke dove out of the way, and the beast roared as it charged past, rounding on Bethany and their mother. Hawke ignored the Templar floundering as she groped for her dropped staff.

“Maker give me strength,” Bethany murmured, slamming the butt of her staff against the ground and mustering her magic. She unleashed a fireball in the ogre’s face, and the beast recoiled briefly before grabbing Bethany by the neck.

Hawke distantly heard screaming, and only vaguely recognized the voice as her own as the ogre smashed her sister into the ground repeatedly, blood spraying across the landscape.

_Thump._

Hawke blinked, the world around her shrinking to the sight of her sister laying bloody and broken on the ground in front of her.

_Thump_.

The pounding wasn’t the ogre’s footsteps, she realized. It was her own heart stopping. Just as her sister’s had stopped.

_Thump_.

Bethany was dead. She was dead. She was dead.

_Bethany was dead she was dead she was dead she was dead she was dead…_

The world tilted as Hawke turned, everything else in the world vanishing as she turned her gaze on the ogre that had killed her baby sister.

_Bethany was dead she was dead she was dead she was dead she was dead…_

Hawke had always controlled her magic.

_Bethany was dead she was dead she was dead she was dead she was dead…_

She had always aimed for a subtle control of her magic.

_Bethany was dead she was dead she was dead she was dead she was dead…_

Hawke blinked again, spotting a massive pile of…something in front of her. Her heart seemed to be beating again, judging by how much her chest hurt from it pounding, and someone had reduced the ogre to a roughly human-sized pile of charcoal and melted flesh. The skull was vaguely recognizable with its sweeping horns, but the rest of it had been charred and melted beyond recognition, as had almost all the nearby darkspawn. Bethany was in her arms, blood smeared from her nose across her cheek and her eyes closed. She seemed so small in Hawke’s arms, the body shaking slightly as a tremor shook Hawke’s shoulders.

“Bethany, wake up,” her mother was pleading. “Wake up, the battle’s over! We’re fine!”

“I’m sorry, Mistress,” Aveline said. “Your daughter is gone.”

“No!” her mother hissed. “These things will not take Bethany!”

“I’m sorry,” Hawke mumbled, stroking her sister’s face. “I’m so sorry. You risked your life to save us. I wasn’t fast enough. I’m sorry. I’m so, I’m so sorry.”

“I want my daughter back,” her mother babbled. “I don’t want a hero, I want my daughter!” She rounded on Hawke, her eyes alight. “How could you let her charge off like that? Oh, my poor little girl.” She bent her head, kissing Bethany’s brow. “My sweetheart.”

“If we stand here weeping, the darkspawn will take the rest of us too,” Carver said.

“How can…” Hawke swallowed hard. “How can you even think right now?”

“Because I’ve already decided to deal with this later,” Carver replied calmly. “Because Bethany wouldn’t…wouldn’t want us to give in.”

“Allow me to commend your daughter’s soul to the Maker, Mistress,” Wesley said softly. “Ashes we were, and ashes we become. Maker, give this young woman a place at your side. Let us take comfort in the peace she has found in eternity.”

“I will never forget you, Bethany,” her mother wept.

“Dana, we have to move,” Carver said. Hawke shook her head, pulling her sister closer to herself. “Dana, _please_.”

Hawke pressed her forehead against her sister’s. “At least Father will have company, now. Say hello to him for us, Bethany.” Tenderly, she undid the scarf around her sister’s neck, tucking it into her tunic.

“By the flames, we’re too late,” Aveline spat as Hawke finally stood.

“On your guard,” Hawke growled, fire crackling in rings around her fists. “These things will regret the day they entered this world.”

A moment later, the darkspawn started shrieking and staring up at the rocks above them. Hawke turned, seeing a dragon unfolding its wings on the cliff above them. For a moment, Hawke thought it must be the Archdemon itself, come to finish them off, until the creature shrieked again and dove, darkspawn fleeing before it and bursting into flame as fire spewed from the dragon’s maw. Alighting upon the ground, the dragon began grabbing darkspawn up in its talons and smashing them down. It was still grasping one when it started...changing, lights swirling around the creature until it vanished among the dust and smoke.

A woman sauntered towards them from where the dragon had been as the dust began to settle, still dragging a dead darkspawn. Her white hair was swept back, several lengths resembling horns not unlike the dragon had had, and the rest cascading down over the feather-studded pauldrons of the leather armor she wore. She swaggered towards them, casually discarding the burning hurlock as if it barely merited notice.

“Well, well, what have we here?” She rasped. There was a clanking sound from behind them, and Hawke glanced over to see Wesley collapsing, faint from blood loss. The woman continued speaking, and Hawke’s attention snapped back to the newcomer. “It used to be we never got visitors to the Wilds, but now it seems they arrive in hordes!”

“I…I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t arrived,” Hawke admitted. “Thank you.”

“I do,” the woman replied. “You would have perished. You still may.”

“If that’s the case, couldn’t you have shown up a minute earlier?” Carver asked. “We…lost someone very dear to us.”

“There is a great deal of that going on,” the woman snapped. “Do not assume your loss means more to me than anyone else’s. If you wish to flee the darkspawn, you should know you are heading in the wrong direction. And yet, I spotted a most curious sight: a mighty ogre, vanquished! Who could perform such a feat?”

“Someone who has had a very long day,” Hawke replied.

The woman laughed. “Too right! But now my curiosity is sated, and you are safe…for the moment. Is that not enough?”

“No, no it isn’t,” Hawke said. “If you’re asking, ‘enough’ would be my sister still alive and us out of danger. Right now, I’ll settle for being able to get through the darkspawn. We won’t be able to on our own. So your efforts here will be for nothing.”

“They are everywhere, or soon will be,” the woman pointed out. “Where is it you plan to run to, hm?”

“We’re going to Kirkwall, in the Free Marches,” Carver said.

“Kirkwall?” The woman smiled faintly. “My, but that is quite the voyage you plan. So far, simply to flee the darkspawn.”

“We’re short on other options, but how far do you recommend?” Hawke asked. “I’m open to better suggestions. I hear the Deep Roads are vacant now.”

The woman laughed. “Oh, you I like! Hurtled into the chaos, you fight, and the world will shake before you.” Hawke narrowed her eyes at the woman as she turned away, talking to herself. “Is it fate or chance? I can never decide.” She turned back. “It appears fortune smiles on us both today. I may be able to help you yet.”

“Pardon me for looking a gift dragon in the mouth, but there must be a catch,” Hawke replied cagily.

“There is always a catch!” The woman laughed. “Life is a catch! I suggest you catch it while you can!”

“Should we even trust her?” Carver asked. “We don’t even know what she is!”

Hawke gave her brother an irritated look. “Do you see any other dragons offering assistance?”

“I know what she is,” Aveline said, looking up from her husband, who appeared grayer than before. “The Witch of the Wilds.”

The woman shrugged. “Some call me that. Also 'Flemeth,' 'Ashabellenar,' and 'The Old Hag Who Talks Too Much.'”

“That last one seems a little personal,” Hawke said, her head spinning. “Would you mind if I just used Flemeth?”

“Does it matter? I offer you this. I will get your group past the horde in exchange for a simple delivery to a place not far out of your way. Would you do this for a ‘Witch of the Wilds?’”

“You get us out of here and I will gift-wrap your delivery for you,” Hawke promised. “But you would go so far out of your way to have something delivered?”

“I have…an appointment to keep,” Flemeth replied cryptically. “It is far more convenient this way. Happily, you are not without your own needs. There is a clan of Dalish elves near the city of Kirkwall. Deliver this amulet to their Keeper, Marethari. Do as she asks with it, and any debt between us is paid in full.” The amulet was in her hand suddenly, like it had always been there. It was too heavy in Hawke’s hand for its size.

“Provided we’re capable of doing as she asks with it, we will,” Hawke promised.

“Before I take you anywhere, however, there is another matter.” Flemeth looked at Aveline. Her husband coughed violently, and Hawke realized Flemeth was staring at Wesley, not Aveline.

“No!” Aveline stood, moving between her husband and Flemeth. “Leave him alone!”

“What has been done to your man is within his blood already,” Flemeth said, almost apologetically.

“You lie!”

“She’s right, Aveline,” Wesley interjected. “I can feel the corruption inside me.”

“How much time does he have?” Hawke asked. “I…can anything be done?”

“An hour ago you were ready to kill him, now you want to save him?” Carver murmured.

“Enough people have died today,” Hawke muttered back, raising her voice. “There must be something we can do.”

“The only cure I know of is to become a Grey Warden,” Flemeth replied.

“And they all died at Ostagar,” Aveline breathed.

Flemeth shook her head. “Not all, but the last are now beyond your reach.”

“Aveline, listen to me,” Wesley begged. “You know what has to be done.”

“You can’t ask me this,” Aveline whispered. “I won’t!”

“Please. The corruption is a slow death. I can’t…”

“Aveline, if…if you can’t,” Hawke began. “I can’t decide his fate for you, but…I could draw the blade.”

Aveline shook her head as Wesley drew his dagger. “He’s my husband. I…I’ll do it.”

Wesley pressed the hilt of the blade into her hand. “Be strong, my love.”

When it was over, Aveline closed his eyes, murmuring a prayer over his body. “Without an end, there can be no peace,” Flemeth said softly. “It gets no easier. Your struggles have only just begun.”

—ROTC—

“Flemeth,” Cassandra said skeptically.

“I thought that might interest you,” the dwarf remarked.

“Varric, do you expect me to believe a myth swooped out of the Wilds to save the Champion?”

“Oh, come now, Seeker,” Varric replied. “Do I need to recite the tale of the Warden as well?”

“No. Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised to hear of her involvement,” Cassandra admitted.

“I liked my version better, too,” Varric said softly.

Cassandra scowled at him. “What else aren’t you telling me then? Did she send someone with the Champion?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“So it’s true. Continue. But if you tell me they all flew to Kirkwall on a dragon…”

“Nothing so fanciful, I assure you. The witch kept her word and got them to Gwaren, where they took ship. They sailed north across the Waking Sea, lashed by terrible storms. Two weeks they spent in that dark hold, packed in with the fearful and the desperate. And then they saw it: Kirkwall, the City of Chains. I’m sure you know it earned that name – long ago it was part of the Imperium, slaves coming from far and wide to work the quarries. Now, it’s a free city, but I use the word loosely. Sail through those black cliffs and you’ll see what the slaves of old saw: the Gallows, welcoming you. That’s where their ship landed, with all the rest.”

—ROTC—

_Bethany Hawke  
Like Dana, Bethany Hawke was an apostate mage in hiding from the Circle since childhood. Protecting Hawke and Bethany from the templars became the defining fact of the family's life, forcing them to move frequently and live well below their means in small hamlets in Lothering. Bethany was close to her eldest sibling and idolized and envied the way Hawke embraced magic, but she could never give up her resentment of being different and fear for what their future would hold._

_Growing up as an apostate never dimmed Bethany's faith and sunny nature, though it colored her view of the world. Bethany wished above all else to be "normal." She appreciated the trouble her family took to keep her out of the Circle, but the running, hiding, and constant fear took their toll. Though she would never admit so to her mother – not after all she sacrificed to protect her – Bethany sometimes wondered whether she would be better off in the Circle. At least there she would be with other mages, confident she'd be serving the will of the Maker and not defying a millennium of religious teachings. Still, her first loyalty was to her family; despite her doubts, she gladly embraced her magic if it meant keeping them safe. She had a teasing rivalry with her twin, Carver, and greatly respected Dana. Bethany died during the family's flight from Lothering, leaving Dana and Bethany's twin brother, Carver, as the only surviving children._


	2. Arrival in Kirkwall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_The City of Kirkwall  
Kirkwall once lived on the edge of the Tevinter Imperium and was home to nearly a million slaves. Stolen from elven lands or shipped from across the sea, all slaves fed the Imperium's unquenchable thirst for expansion. They worked in massive quarries and sweltering foundries that produced stone and steel for the Empire._

_The city's complicated past is not easy to forget, history having earmarked many corners of the stone city. A ship approaching the harbor spots the city's namesake: an imposing black wall. It is visible for miles, and carved into the cliff side are a pantheon of vile guardians representing the Old Gods. Over the years, the Chantry has effaced many of these profane sentinels, but it will take many more years to erase them all._

_Also carved into the cliff is a channel that permits ships into the city's interior. Flanking the channel are two massive bronze statues—the Twins of Kirkwall. The statues have a practical use. Kirkwall sits next to the narrowest point of the Waking Sea, and a massive chain net can be erected between the statues and the lighthouse, closing off the only narrow navigable lane. This stranglehold on sea traffic is jealously guarded by the ever-changing rulers of the city as the net trolls taxes, tolls, and extortions in from the sea._

_—From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi_

—ROTC—

“That can’t be,” Hawke’s mother protested.

“It’s true,” Aveline replied. “They’re not letting anyone into the city. Look at them all.”

Sure enough, a crowd of refugees were clamoring to enter the city, held back by a barrier of armored figures wearing the uniform of the Kirkwall guard. “Are we really surprised?” Carver asked. “Everyone’s fleeing the Blight, just as we are.” His eyes were dark and haunted. Between Ostagar, Lothering, and Bethany, Hawke was surprised he was still on his feet.

“And they would throw us all back to the wolves,” Aveline remarked. “Unbelievable.”

“So long as we’re all safe, that’s more important,” Hawke insisted.

“We need to find Gamlen,” her mother said. “Our family has always been highly regarded in Kirkwall. He can do something, I’m sure of it!”

“Let’s hope he received your letter,” Carver muttered.

“The guards seem to be reporting to that man.” Aveline indicated a guard officer. “Perhaps we should speak to him.”

“Get back to the crowd, you lot,” the officer said as they approached. “Trying to bully your way through won’t get you into Kirkwall any faster!”

“But you do intend to let us in?” Aveline asked.

The man snorted. “We have enough poor of our own in the Free Marches. We don’t need you refugees piling up here like a middens heap!”

“There must be someone in charge I can speak with,” Hawke pressed.

“You want in, talk to Captain Ewald,” the man replied. “I’m just here to keep you refuse from climbing the walls.”

Hawke scratched at the dried kaddis smeared across her nose. “Mother, we’ll go talk to this guard captain. Hopefully, we can get this resolved without too much trouble.”

As they climbed the stairs beyond the guard lieutenant, Aveline spoke up. “Tell me, Carver, how did your family escape Lothering? Almost everyone who hadn't fled...”

“My older sister,” Carver replied. “If she wasn't with us, I don't think we'd be here.”

“But you seem quite skilled as well.”

“I'm not my sister.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Hawke called over her shoulder. “He’s a better fighter than I am. Come off it, Carver, you had been running and fighting since Ostagar, and you were still doing better than I’ve ever seen you.”

“If I’d been at my best, maybe…” Carver bit off the sentence. “Forget it.”

“I know.” Hawke reached up, touching her sister’s scarf, now around her own neck. “I know, Carver.”

“We’re not animals you can just corral!” A man was shouting at Captain Ewald. Hawke recognized their armor as Fereldan army issue, marking them immediately as deserters.

“We’ve no intention of keeping anyone here, serah,” Ewald replied. “You’re all going back where you came from.”

“My men and I fought against the Blight,” the man insisted. “We’re heroes!”

“Deserters, you mean,” Ewald snapped. “Kirkwall has no more room for anyone.”

“You would think there would be some space left where this city’s compassion should be,” Hawke quipped.

“Too right,” the soldier said. “Let us through, you flaming blighter! We’re not staying in this pit!”

“Then get back on your ship and leave,” Ewald said dismissively. “Kirkwall has no more room for refugees.”

“The ship’s already gone, and we paid good coin to get here!”

“You and half of Ferelden,” the man scoffed. “There’s nothing I can do! The city is full!”

“Not what I heard,” Hawke chimed in. “One of the guards said you were letting in people who have business in the city.”

The soldiers’ leader seized on the opportunity. “That’s right! We’ve seen you let lots of people through!”

“Citizens and merchants that make it worth our while,” the man replied, looking to Hawke. “I’ll assume that you don’t have any more coin than these gentlemen?”

“Oh, so we’re not quibbling over whether it’s bribery or not, just the _price_,” Hawke said. “At last, some refreshing honesty.”

Ewald scowled at her. “We’ve been letting you Fereldans in for months. You’re too late. There’s no room!”

“But we’ve got family here!” Carver protested.

“I’ve heard claims like that a thousand times already. Trust me! We’ll find some ships to take you all back to Ferelden – eventually. Until then, you stay here.”

“Our uncle is Gamlen Amell,” Hawke protested. “He knows we’re coming. Surely someone could find him.”

“Gamlen?” Ewald echoed. “I know that name.”

“He’s a nobleman here in the city. Our family has an estate.”

Ewald blinked in surprise. “A nobleman? The only Gamlen I know is a weasel who couldn’t rub two coppers together. He comes back, I’ll bring you to him, but I don’t have time to-”

“What?” The soldier squawked. “You’re going to let them through?”

“I didn’t say anything about-”

“We’ve been here for four days!” Another soldier shouted. “They just got here!”

“That’s it!” Their leader barked. “We’re carving our way out of here. Men!”

Everyone went for their weapons at once. Sides became apparent quickly – Ewald, a pair of nearby guards, and Hawke’s party against a half-dozen deserters. If not for the witnesses, Hawke could have taken them down in seconds, but she was reduced to using her staff as a bludgeoning weapon, sweeping a man’s legs out from under him as Carver’s greatsword dominated the fight against two more. Aveline sidestepped a mace strike to catch another that would have blindsided Hawke on her shield. Hawke jabbed her staff past Aveline, the weight on the end smashing through a man’s knee.

Ewald was fighting the deserter leader when Hawke kicked the man’s legs out from under him, the weight resting against the man’s skull as he landed. “Call your men off!” Hawke barked. She recoiled as Ewald stabbed the fallen man. The other deserters were dispatched summarily, and Hawke rounded on the guard captain. “What is _wrong _with you! He wasn’t a threat!”

“Men like that don’t give up,” Ewald snapped. “Our jails are bursting already.”

“Unbelievable,” Hawke muttered.

“I appreciate your help, either way,” Ewald said. “You have my thanks. Look, I can’t get you into the city, it’s not my decision. But I’ll find your uncle and bring him here.

—ROTC—

Hawke’s stomach growled, and she unconsciously rubbed at her belly. “Three days, now,” she mumbled, leaning her head back against the stone wall. “Much longer and I’ll know every paving stone in this place by its first name.”

“This waiting _has _to end,” Aveline groaned.

“I’m sure it won’t be much longer,” Hawke’s mother said optimistically. “Gamlen must still be looking for us!”

“And if he’s not?” Aveline challenged.

Hawke spotted a man with greying hair walking towards them. “Wait, I think someone’s coming.”

The man’s eyes widened as he saw Hawke’s mother. “Leandra! Damn, girl, the years haven’t been kind to you.”

“Gamlen!” The woman pulled her brother into a tight hug, and after a moment’s hesitation he returned it.

“Let me say up front,” he said softly, “I wasn’t expecting this. The Blight, your husband dead…I’d, ah, figured you’d pretty much be Fereldan for life.”

“Oh, Gamlen, we came too late,” Leandra moaned. “My darling Bethany didn’t make it. Andraste guide her.”

The man rubbed at his eyes. “Oh, Maker save me. Leandra, don’t drop this on me here. I don’t even know if I can help you get in.”

Hawke was frowning, looking the man over and noting his simple clothing. “I’m more concerned about Mother,” she said. “Can you get her in, at least?”

“No,” Leandra said firmly. “We stay together!”

“I was hoping to grease some palms, but the knight-commander’s been cracking down,” Gamlen replied. “We’re gonna need more grease.”

“Yeah, we’ve gotten that impression,” Carver interjected. “Her Templars like to come through and intimidate people now and again. She’s made it abundantly clear that she’s the real power around here.”

“What about the estate?” Leandra asked. “Surely Father left something when he died.”

Gamlen winced. “Right, about the estate. It’s, uh…it’s…gone.”

“Gone,” Leandra echoed disbelievingly.

“Gone, yes. To settle a debt. I’ve been meaning to write you.”

“Then there’s no hope,” Leandra realized.

“Not quite,” Gamlen said quickly. “I know some people who might help, if you’re not too delicate about the company you keep.”

“Well, I work with him,” Hawke said, jerking a thumb at Carver, “and if you’d seen him work with that greatsword, you’d know ‘delicate’ is off the table.” She paused. “Mother said our family was wealthy, though. You really can’t help us?”

“I am blighted helping,” Gamlen snapped. “I’ve got two offers of work from people who’ve got the coin to open those gates.”

“I still can’t believe you sold the estate,” Leandra said. “Gamlen, how could you?”

“Well, I didn’t expect your blasted family to show up on my doorstep,” Gamlen shot back. “I’ve got a nice place in Lowtown. You’ll see, it’ll all work out.”

“Hey, this wasn’t exactly in our plans, either,” Hawke said hotly. “We were short on other options. I suppose you would have preferred we stay in Ferelden and rot with the darkspawn?”

“Dana!” Leandra gasped.

“We lost people getting here,” Hawke went on. “We don’t have any other place to go. I don’t care _who_ I have to work for, but we’re getting into this city.”

“Agreed,” Carver said. “We’re not putting Mother through that. We came here, we’re staying here.”

“Very well,” Gamlen replied. “I talked to my contacts and I found some people who might be willing to pay your way into the city. The catch is you and your brother will have to work off the debt. For a year.”

“A year?” Leandra echoed. “You’re selling my children into indentured service for a year?”

“It’s the best I could do!” Gamlen insisted. “Trust me when I say a bunch of refugees won’t get a better option anywhere else.”

“I guess it’s only a year,” Carver mumbled. “Right?”

“It beats our other choice, which is trying to get into a different city,” Hawke replied. “What’s a year?”

“I managed to convince my contacts to come to the Gallows to meet you personally,” Gamlen explained. “There’s Meeran, who heads up the mercenary company the Red Iron. They’re looking for recruits. Athenril…I guess you’d call her a smuggler. Either one of them can help you. All you need to do is find them in the courtyard and convince them you’re worth the trouble.”

Hawke looked to her brother. “What do you think about this, Carver?”

“What can I say?” The young man replied. “Better here than nowhere.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” Hawke muttered. “What kind of man is this Meeran? Carver’s skills are more suited to mercenary work than smuggling.”

“Hey, now, if I go, you go,” Carver blurted out. “You wouldn’t last five minutes without me watching your back.”

Hawke grinned. “I can keep up, but I figure you’d be more suited to that. Gamlen?”

“He’s a hired sword. What do you expect him to be like?” Gamlen asked rhetorically. “I wouldn’t bring him home for dinner or anything, but he’s got a decent reputation. I wouldn’t have asked him if I thought he’d cross you.”

Hawke nodded. “And Athenril? The farther from notice we can stay, the better.”

“Well, it won’t be pretty working for her. She’s a pretty small fish compared to some of the other thieves’ guilds around here. But she’s tough, she’s fair, and she never deals in slaves or flesh.”

“Now _that _sounds like a winner,” Hawke pronounced. “Keeps us at a minimum of trouble, a minimum of notice, and we won’t be doing anything too heinous to decent people. Let’s find them and see what they have to say.”

“It’s a lot of coin, Leandra,” Gamlen said before his sister could say anything else. “Don’t go expecting our name to carry the kind of weight it used to.”

“And what of me?” Aveline asked, having remained silent thus far. “I will not allow others to incur debts on my behalf.”

Gamlen scoffed. “Can’t see that it makes a difference. You look like a lady who can pull her own weight.”

“And then some,” Hawke commented. “Aveline can handle herself in a fight.”

“Then you’ll come with us,” Leandra said to Aveline.

“I…have no real option. Thank you.”

“We really had to twist her arm,” Carver quipped as they left Leandra with Gamlen. 

They found Athenril first, an elf wearing a subdued set of worn leathers. “Are you Athenril?”

“You must be Gamlen’s niece,” the elf said. “Interesting. I don’t know what he told you about us, but he certainly told us a great deal about you.”

“Er…how much, exactly?” Carver asked warily.

“Enough to pique our interest, provided you can justify your uncle’s confidence.”

“I’d like to know what we’d be doing as part of your crew,” Hawke interjected.

“I can be honest about that. We don’t compete with the thieves’ guild, but we keep our fingers in a lot of pots. That said, we’re not killers or slavers. Anything short of that, however, is fair game.”

“Do what you want, but this sounds fishy to me,” Aveline warned.

“Begging and taking your pick never went hand-in-hand,” Carver replied.

“You’re laying a lot of coin down on this,” Hawke went on as if they hadn’t spoken. “I hear getting into the city isn’t cheap.”

“If you’re as good as your uncle claims, we’re hoping you’ll be worth it,” Athenril replied cagily. “After all, it’s note every day we’re offered an apostate’s services.”

“_Fuck_,” Carver breathed.

Hawke forced a smile. “I didn’t realize Gamlen had told you that much.”

“The Templars in Kirkwall like to think they have all mages properly leashed, but when has that ever been true? We can keep them from taking notice while you’re with us. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Hawke feigned indifference. “Well, that certainly would be a nice bonus, if you can deliver.”

“You’re only good to me if I can keep you out of the Circle,” Athenril pointed out. “Having you locked up in this place doesn’t profit anybody.”

“Good point,” Hawke conceded. “How did you get to be one of my uncle’s contacts?”

“Is that what he calls me?” Athenril asked. “He owes us after that last ‘big idea,’ but if you turn out, we’ll consider things even.”

“Give us a moment to talk this over, we do have another offer on the table,” Hawke replied, pulling her companions a few steps away. “I’m really not seeing a downside here.”

“Besides the fact that she could sell us out to the Templars in a minute?” Carver asked.

“But doing so would bring a lot of scrutiny on her organization that I doubt she wants,” Hawke countered. “She knows, she’s interested in keeping things quiet, and a year working for a low-end smuggling ring seems a lot less dangerous than a year in a mercenary company.”

“I’ll follow you, you know that,” Carver said after a moment.

“Athenril it is, then.” Hawke approached the elf again. “Tell me what you need done.”

Athenril gestured her closer. “There’s a merchant named Cavril. Friend of the Templars, so they let him set up his little shop here in the Gallows. We supplied him in return for a piece of the take, but now he won’t pay up. We can’t go near him without him screaming for the guard, but you’re a refugee. You can get close. Get our money from him and you’re in.”

“He’s the one who’s been gouging refugees for everything they’ve got, isn’t he?” Hawke asked. Athenril nodded. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.”

Sure enough, Cavril was dickering with a woman over the price of something. A pair of masked and armed guards waited behind him, watching refugees warily. “I’ve already told you, I can’t give you any more for them!”

“But that was everything we have!” the woman protested. “It’s all we brought with us!”

“And I feel for you serah,” Cavril replied without a hint of sincerity, “but it’s the best I can do.”

“If they just let us into the city, I could get three times that price!”

Cavril sighed, rolling his eyes. “Myron?”

One of the guards stepped forward, looming over the refugee. “Your business is done.” The woman protested, but backed off as the man reached for the handle of his mace.

“Now then!” Cavril said happily, ignoring the woman glowering at him from a safe distance. “What can I do for you, serah?”

“I didn’t think there’d be any stores here in the fortress,” Hawke said lightly.

“There are many merchants who come here right now who can’t afford the bribes to enter the city. So the Templars suggested having someone set up shop – temporarily. And I am the lucky man!”

“So, you paid your own bribes to be here?” Hawke asked.

“If they allowed everyone to set up shop, this place would turn into a bazaar! Sadly, there’s only so much I can do for those Fereldans, poor sods.”

“I’m sure you’re very broken up over it,” Aveline deadpanned.

“Er…I meant you. Folks like yourself.” He cleared his throat.

“She didn’t seem very happy with the deal you made,” Hawke said, jerking a thumb at the refugee.

Cavril gave an annoyed sigh. “What am I supposed to do? Buy every piece of furniture these people dragged with them?”

“You mean people like us?” Carver asked pointedly.

“Of course, my apologies,” Cavril replied insincerely. “My point is that I’m running a business, not a charitable order. I’m sorry.”

Aveline snorted. “I imagine the profit helps with the guilt.”

“Or maybe the Templars could let another merchant or two in here, but then you wouldn’t be able to dictate prices,” Hawke said. “Of course, as it stands you probably aren’t making enough money by gouging like that to pay your business partner her cut.”

All trace of civility vanished from the man’s tone. “Ah. I see.”

“Should I go tell the guards?” Myron asked.

“Not just yet,” Cavril replied. “I want to hear this. So Athenril sent you to collect, did she? Too cowardly to do it herself?”

Hawke sighed, letting her head drop slightly. “Aveline? Care to step in here?”

“Only because this toad deserves it,” Aveline replied, casually headbutting Myron in the face as she passed. The thug dropped like a sack of potatoes as Aveline drew her dagger, and the other thug staggered back, his imposing air vanishing. The edge of Aveline’s dagger hovered an inch away from the man’s neck. “You have a choice. Pay up, or I beat it out of you and your men.”

“Ey!” The guard not clutching a mouth of blood and broken teeth protested.

“Stay back!” Cavril babbled. “Just…take what’s in the chest. Take it all!” Carver bent, grabbing a sack of coin from the chest. “Now I’m getting out of here. Let those guards find someone else to buy dog-land junk!”

“That’s our junk you’re talking about,” Hawke jibed as they walked away. “Have a nice day!”

“Here you go,” Carver said, passing the coin to Athenril. “As requested.”

Hawke smiled faintly. “Compliments of the Hawke family.”

“Will you look at that,” Athenril remarked. “Tell your uncle we’ll make the arrangements. Welcome aboard.”

“Any luck?” Gamlen asked as they reunited.

“We’re in with Athenril’s crew,” Hawke summed up.

“I’ll speak with her and see when the bribes can be made. Wait here.”

“I guess we did it,” Carver mused. “We’re here to stay, at least for a while.”

“The Blight may have spread, but we’re here now, and for now we have a new home,” Hawke replied.

“If only Bethany were here,” Leandra said mournfully.

“And Wesley,” Aveline added as Gamlen spoke to Ewald.

“Let’s just see what happens,” Hawke said, looking back to her family. “We have a long year ahead of us.”

—ROTC—

“Thus began the Champion’s first year in Kirkwall,” Varric said. “Word arrived from across the sea that the Hero of Ferelden had defeated the Blight. You know his story. _Everyone _knows his story. But Lothering was destroyed. Kirkwall was the Champion’s home. So she remained, paying off her debt. Made a name for herself in the underworld. With her assistance, Athenril’s smuggling ring grew to rival the Coterie in less than a year. And that was a busy year for the city. That’s when the Qunari landed. A great storm caught their ship and left hundreds of warriors stranded in the city, waiting to return home. That’s also when the trouble began with the Templars.”

“With the mages,” Cassandra corrected.

“Are you telling this story?” The dwarf groused. “We both know where the trouble started there. The Templars had become very powerful under Knight-Commander Meredith. Too powerful, for many people’s tastes. You wanted to hear the truth. It’s not my fault if it’s something you don’t want to hear.”

The woman glared at him a moment longer. “Very well. Go on.”

“As I was saying, it was a busy year. Most of the major players in this story were already in the city or arrived that year. The Qunari, several of Hawke’s future companions, the Famous Broma Brothers – well, they weren’t part of this story, but they are a _fantastic _performing troupe – but most importantly, that’s when I first met the Champion.”

“The Tethras expedition,” Cassandra said.

“My brother met them first,” Varric went on. “In a manner of speaking.”

—ROTC—

“No!” Bartrand was saying. “Andraste’s tits, human, you know how many people want to hire onto this expedition?”

“Look, we know you’re going into the Deep Roads,” Carver replied. “You’ll need to hire the best, and we’re-”

“No! You’re too late! Already done!”

“The money from this trip could fix _everything_,” Carver insisted. “You need us. We’ve fought darkspawn!”

“Carver was at Ostagar, and we fought every inch of the way from Lothering to Gwaren,” Hawke said.

“Look, precious I don’t care if you tore the horns off an ogre with your bare hands.”

“How about melted one?” Hawke asked.

“Oh, good, we’re just giving that information out now?” Carver asked. “Fine. You convince him. We’re running from your bloody Templars!”

Hawke glared at Carver. “My brother has a point. It’s on his _head_, but it’s still valid.”

“Oh, thanks for that,” Carver groused.

“So, what about it, Bartrand? We’re just what you need.”

“You’re looking for a quick way out of the slums, right?” Bartrand asked. “You and every other Fereldan in this dump. Find another meal ticket.” He stormed off, leaving the Hawkes standing there.

“Well, back to waiting for someone to turn us in,” Carver grumbled.

“You can relax,” Hawke said acidly. “After all, the Templars dogging us are ‘mine,’ remember?”

Carver paused. “Did I sound that bad?” Hawke stared at him, hurt, and Carver shook his head. “Maker, I’m turning into Gamlen.”

Hawke shrugged. “Forget it. Don’t be Gamlen.”

“Wait, Gamlen,” Carver realized. “He’s got the head for this garbage. Maybe he can talk to Bartrand! He knows some people. After last week, we need all the coin and influence we can get.”

“He got us into the city,” Hawke admitted. “Well, more or less. If there’s a chance he can push Bartrand, we’ve got to take it.”

“Worth checking, I guess. What else can we do? We’re losing ground, and I don’t fancy waking up in the Gallows.”

“Me neither. I,” Hawke paused as a man shouldered past her, before patting her hip where her coin purse used to be. “Hey!”

The pickpocket broke into a sprint and had almost turned a corner when a metallic _kachunk_ echoed off the paving stones and a crossbow bolt sprouted from his shoulder, pinning him to the stone wall of a nearby house. A dashing, ruggedly handsome dwarf strutted forwards manfully, collapsing his magnificently designed crossbow with a practiced gesture.

—ROTC—

“_Varric_.”

“All right, all right.”

—ROTC—

“I knew a guy once who could take every coin out of your pockets just by smiling at you,” the dwarf said, approaching the pinned pickpocket. “But you? You don’t have the style to work Hightown, let alone the Merchants Guild.” He held out a hand expectantly, and the pickpocket handed over the stolen purse. “Might want to find yourself a new line of work.” He caught the man on the chin with a left hook, before ripping the bolt out of the man’s shoulder and letting him slide to the ground. “Off you go!”

The dwarf spun the bolt lazily around his fingers as he tossed the coin purse back to Hawke. “How do you do? Varric Tethras, at your service. I apologize for Bartrand. He wouldn’t know an opportunity if it hit him square in the jaw.” Uniquely for a dwarf, Varric was close to clean-shaven, with only short stubble. Of course, no average beard could have hidden the dwarf’s lantern jaw. It would take a small boulder moving at high speed to break it. The dwarf wore a red shirt that was open almost to his navel, revealing a great expanse of chest hair, and a leather duster over a sash tied around his waist.

“But you would?” Hawke asked. “Or does that make you an opportunity for that pickpocket?”

Varric laughed. “Well, I suppose you could look at it that way, yes. What my brother doesn’t realize is that we need someone like you. He would never admit it, either. He’s too proud. I, however, am quite practical.”

“You’re part of Bartrand’s venture?” Hawke asked. “Just because you’re brothers doesn’t mean you’re going along on this little expedition.”

“That’s right. The Deep Roads wouldn’t normally be my thing, but I can’t allow the head of our family to go down there alone. So as you might imagine, I have more than a passing interest in this expedition’s success.”

“And yet he’s coming to us,” Carver quipped.

Hawke smiled faintly. “My brother has another good point. What makes you so certain we can help? You know nothing about us.”

“Oh, on the contrary,” Varric said. “I keep my ears to the ground, and you’ve made quite the name for yourself over the last year. The Coterie has been squeezing smugglers out left and right, and the only group to survive owes it all to you two. The name ‘Hawke’ is on many lips these days. Not bad for a Fereldan fresh off the boat.”

“Well, Carver is good at what he does,” Hawke mused.

Varric smirked. “I’ve heard of him too, of course, but it is you they speak most of, messere.”

“That figures,” Carver grumbled.

“Your brother is certainly welcome to join us, by all means, but I’ll leave that in your hands.”

“Oh, I’m going,” Carver declared. “Without this expedition, we won’t last out the year.”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t think of leaving you behind,” Hawke reassured him. “You’ve fought far more darkspawn than I have, and there’s nobody I’d rather have watching my back.” She turned back to Varric. “There must be some way to persuade your brother to hire us on.”

“We don’t need another hireling, that’s the thing,” Varric said. “We need a partner. The truth is, Bartrand’s been tearing his beard out trying to fund this on his own, but he can’t do it. He doesn’t want to share the take. Invest in the expedition. Fifty sovereigns, and he can’t refuse. Not with me there to vouch for you.”

“Fifty sovereigns,” Hawke echoed. “Right. Because we have that kind of money.”

“I’m sure if we go through the couch cushions back home we could come up with that,” Carver added.

“I’ve heard of House Tethras, an expedition like this shouldn’t be of any consequence to them financially," Hawke said. “Where has all Bartrand’s coin gone?”

“Truth be told, this isn’t the only expedition he’s funding,” Varric confessed. “He’s got some sort of mission going on for another lost thaig, Amgarrak or something like that. Most of his ready coin went with it. My brother is big on get-rich-quick schemes, but he’s not particularly great at pulling them off. You, however, seem to have an air of good luck around you. I’m willing to give a little trust. Are you?”

“You’re not really making a great case for following him,” Hawke admitted.

“You need to think big,” Varric pressed. “There’s only a brief window after a Blight when the Deep Roads won’t be crawling with darkspawn. The Hero of Ferelden and his troops are still rooting them out on the surface, but soon they’ll be heading back to the Deep Roads. Which means we’re short on time, and the treasure you find down there could set you and your family up for life!”

“Come on, the dwarf makes some sense,” Carver interjected. “No offense.”

Varric waved him off. “I’m too busy to take offense at things.”

“Look, you started this,” Carver said to Hawke. “And it’s a good idea. Certainly, better than ending up in the Gallows.”

“We work together, you and I, and before you know it, you’ll have all the capital you need. What do you say?”

“You’ve made your case for how I can help your expedition, but how do you plan for us to come up with fifty sovereigns?” Hawke asked.

“I know everyone in this city worth knowing, and I can help you find the jobs you need. But if you don’t need me for that, there’s always Bianca.” He patted the stock of the gorgeous crossbow strapped across his back. “If this works out, you’ll be wealthy enough that the Order won’t be able to touch you. Nobody will. You need the coin and I need your help.” The dwarf shrugged. “We need each other. I can’t make it sound better than that.”

The two Hawkes looked at each other a moment, before nodding. “Well, Varric, you have a deal,” Hawke said.

“_Perfect_. Kirkwall’s crawling with odd jobs for capable people. You set aside some coin from every job, and you’ll have the money in no time!”

“Sure, easy,” Carver deadpanned. “But…maybe Aveline’s got some bounties out. She joined the city guard, right?” Hawke nodded.

“We should talk privately when you get the chance. In the Hanged Man, maybe – I’ll be there when I’m not with you. Now let’s go see what trouble we can stir up.”

—ROTC—

Stirring up trouble proved to be harder than Hawke had first expected. Even with the city guard as overworked as it was, Hightown was still generally well-patrolled enough to ward off all but the most idiotic pickpockets.

Lowtown, however, provided the chance to do some good. A handful of swindlers were offering what they claimed to be the Ashes of Andraste, but the nearest guard claimed to be unable to arrest them despite their known affiliations with the Carta.

“I suppose there would be a discretionary bounty available,” Varric prodded.

“Well of course,” the guards replied. “We just want them off the streets.”

Finding the swindlers was simple enough, although the dwarf in charge growled at them as they approached. “Not a step closer. No refunds on the ashes, friends. If the Maker doesn’t favor you, that’s between – _urk_!” He fell backwards with a crossbow bolt through his throat, and a half-dozen other thugs went down quickly enough to their combined skills.

Varric looked at the destruction Hawke had wrought, then back to Hawke, then back at the destruction. "You said your sister was a mage as well?"

"Correct," Hawke replied.

"And your father?"

"Yes, him too. Why?"

"How in the world did you stay unnoticed with magic like that?"

"Templars are rather unobservant," Hawke said. "Plus, my father was skilled with a blade as well as magic, so he could pass for a retired warrior instead of a mage. The idea being that a mage would never learn to use a sword."

"And they never caught on?"

"I remember that one time a Templar did come around," Hawke chuckled. Carver grinned. "Some dippy young recruit half-addled on lyrium asks him about it when he's working in a field, clearing rocks. 'Excuse me, young man, have you seen three rogue apostates wandering around here?' Then there's fifteen-year-old Carver, lifting a boulder the size of a cow over his head. 'Sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you.' The Templar took one look at him holding that rock over his head like it was nothing, said that he’d made a mistake, told him to have a wonderful day, and all but sprinted back to the Chantry. The Templars never bothered us again.”

Varric was wheezing out laughter, one hand on his knee. “Oh, Maker, that’s precious, Hawke.”

“Our house isn’t far from here,” Hawke offered. “Care to stop by and meet the others?”

“Might as well, if we’re going to be partners,” Varric said. As they climbed the stairs, the dwarf wrinkled his nose. “No offense to your uncle, Hawke, but this house smells like really old cabbage.”

“Just can’t believe they left me nothing,” Leandra was saying as they came in.

“Well, Mother was pretty steamed when you ran off with your Fereldan apostate,” Gamlen replied.

“I’m still their daughter. The eldest!”

“Mother, Gamlen, we have company,” Hawke called, interrupting their bickering.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Leandra replied. “Gamlen, my children have been in servitude – servitude! For a year! They should be nobility!”

“This is the way things are, Mother,” Hawke pressed. “Gamlen can’t change it now.”

“Your mother was _supposed _to marry the Comte de Launcet, and instead she ran off with some Fereldan apostate. You don’t get to stay the favorite when you do that.”

“Where is Father’s will?” Leandra asked. “If I could just see for myself.”

“It’s not here, all right?” Gamlen snapped. “It was read, it went in the vault. No one needed to look at it again.”

“I know the Amells were nobility, Mother, but not much else,” Hawke interjected, trying to steer the conversation back onto safer topics as Varric scratched Hopper behind the ears. “Why don’t you ever talk about them?”

“The Amells have been a noble family in Kirkwall since Garahel drove out the Fourth Blight,” Leandra explained. “But we’ve always carried magic in our blood. The Hero of Ferelden was once one of ours, you know. One of my cousin Revka’s children. The Circle took them all. It’s been a stain on our lineage. No family of good standing would ever marry into a line with magic. When I chose your father, I was bringing more magic into our line, not less. I think that’s what hurt my parents the most.”

“Did grandfather mention Mother in his will at all?” Hawke asked Gamlen.

“Our father died when you were still in pinafores, girl,” Gamlen said irritably. “You can hardly expect me to remember.”

“Oh, of course not,” Carver broke in. “Why should you do something reasonable?”

“Please, Uncle,” Hawke said. “We have a right to see it for ourselves.”

“Maybe so, but you won’t be seeing the bloody thing. It’s still locked up on the estate. And that’s long out of my hands.”

“What daft bastard leaves that behind?” Carver asked incredulously.

“It was _old news_,” Gamlen groused. “You think I’ve been sitting here for twenty-five years waiting for Leandra to slink back?”

“Who bought the estate, Gamlen?”

“Nobody you know,” Gamlen interrupted. “Get used to Lowtown, sister, that’s where we’re going to stay.”

“Maker, what a mess,” Carver muttered as Leandra and Gamlen split off to opposite sides of the hovel. “I want to make things better for Mother, but some of what Gamlen says…I’m having a hard time hating him. Playing caretaker for someone else’s life, stuck in their shadow…that’s no way to live.”

“Something you need to say?” Hawke asked warily.

“Look, if you want to join the fight over who lost the most, fine. But I never lived here. Mother even gave me her old key to try and stir something. But I didn’t know Grandfather. Finding his will doesn’t matter to me.”

“I never knew them either,” Hawke pointed out. “But Mother tried her best to give us what we need. I think she’s due the same.”

“Oh, I see her side: Gamlen’s definitely an ass,” Carver admitted. “But it’s not like we can just ask slavers to give back that life.”

“Slavers?” Hawke echoed. “What have you heard?”

“Uncle’s a chatty drunk,” Carver explained quietly. “He was up to his neck and signed everything over. That’s who has the estate. Apparently the most extensive wine cellar in Kirkwall is now a slave highway from the Undercity. _That’s _the family legacy. And I doubt they’ll be in much of a mood to let us take a look at the vault.”

Hawke rubbed her chin. “So maybe we don’t ask. I say we pay them a visit and look for that will.”

“I’m sure they will be right neighborly about letting us poke around,” Carver quipped.

“We’ll give them the chance, sure. If they object…well, so much the better.”

Carver smiled grimly. “All right, Dana. If the key works, we’ll clear the estate from the Undercity up. Only one thing their kind deserves anyway.”

“You mind some help?” Varric asked. “I have many friends. None of them are slavers.”

“The more the merrier,” Hawke said. “You and Bianca are welcome to come along. Either way, let’s get out of here. I could use a drink.” She paused just long enough to pick up a letter addressed to her from the desk, before leading them back out into Lowtown.

—ROTC—

_Aveline Vallen  
“If it's family, you protect. Doesn't matter who it is, blood or not.”_

_Aveline was born in Orlais, but she never knew the country. Her father, Benoit du Lac, was a chevalier who lost his patron to the game of intrigue. He fled to Ferelden while Aveline was an infant, and though his holdings were meager, he was determined she would have the life he had lost: she would become a knight, no matter the cost. He eventually sold everything to sponsor Aveline into King Cailan's service._

_Knightly skills seemed bred into Aveline's bones, but she had her doubts—starting with her namesake, Ser Aveline. The first female knight of Orlais was orphaned, mocked for her looks and murdered when she dared stand with men in tournament. Her glory lies in tragedy, but the living Aveline doesn't revere sacrifice: a principled death is still a death. Her father was proud of her, but she would never be the knight he wished for._

_Aveline married Wesley Vallen while serving in the Fereldan army. They were kindred spirits and determined guardians. His death during the Blight scarred her—not just his loss, but that she failed to protect him. Aveline has healed in the past year, but she has yet to forgive herself. Accordingly, she is fiercely protective of the Hawkes and Hawke herself. They share a bond in loss, a connection she cherishes but will not allow to be repeated._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.


	3. Making Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and her companions start getting into trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Carver Hawke  
“A hundred ways to run, and we choose backward. Whatever you say, but chasing an old name isn't really starting over.”_

_Carver Hawke grew up surrounded by magic he couldn't truly understand. He cared deeply for his family, but sometimes felt like the stupidest person in the room. Carver foundered in Lothering, caught between the gifts of his apostate sisters. He blamed his lack of direction on not wanting to draw attention to his family of apostates at home. After his father died, he started down a military path; however, the Blight and rout at Ostagar ended this career almost before it could start. While he knows that swift flight was the only reasonable course in the face of the darkspawn advance, he almost would rather have stood and fought. Doomed though the effort was, facing the horde had purpose—something Carver had been searching for._

_Strong and strapping, Carver is a skilled warrior set on proving himself, although it's not always clear who he is trying to impress. But even as Carver grouses about his lot, he remains dedicated to protecting those he loves._

—ROTC—

The group ignored the Chantry sister soliciting donations from the impoverished and the prostitutes outside as they cut across Lowtown.

The Hanged Man looked much like every other pub in Lowtown did – rough floorboards stained dark with accumulated spilled beer, chairs and tables scattered around the room, and a handful of half-shaded windows letting light in to supplement the lanterns.

“I’ll get us a round,” Varric offered. “We need to talk.”

An hour later, they were gathered around a table in the back of the pub in a suite that Varric had set up in, laughing heartily. Varric had parked himself behind his tankard, clearly in his element. “So the Templar dropped his sword – the metal one, mind you – and scampered back to the Chantry holding his trousers up with both hands!”

Hawke burst out laughing again, Carver smirking into his beer as he took a long pull. Hopper was curled up at the foot of Varric’s bed, ears twitching occasionally as the dog caught a nap. “All right, Varric, I know you didn’t get us drunk just to be friendly,” Hawke said. “I’m a little liquored up to be talking business, but what’s your angle here?”

“Fair enough,” Varric chuckled. “Here’s the thing. House Tethras has a lot tied up on this expedition, but Bartrand’s not nearly as on top of things as he would like to pretend. Like I said, he needs a partner to help fund it, but we need to find a way into the Deep Roads as well. Bartrand can lead us to the right place once we’re down there, but we need a good entrance.”

“I’ve fought darkspawn, but I’ve never been to the Deep Roads,” Hawke admitted.

“Fortunately, I’ve received some new information,” Varric said. “There’s a Grey Warden recently arrived in the city – if anyone knows how to get down there, it’ll be him.”

“Makes sense,” Carver said. “If the Grey Wardens are going to fight the darkspawn, they should know where they’re coming from.”

“Exactly,” Varric said. “They forge into the Deep Roads all the time. And if he doesn’t know, he might be able to point us to those who do.”

“Are there any other options?” Hawke asked. “If he doesn’t know anything, we should have a backup plan.”

“None at the moment,” Varric admitted. “Bartrand had an entrance lined up, but it was a bust. If we don’t find something, we’ll have a fancy and very expensive expedition with nowhere to go.”

“I don’t know about that,” Hawke said. “I hear Antiva’s nice.”

“Full of Antivans this time of year,” Carver pointed out.

“Oh.” Hawke thought that over a moment. “True. Maybe Nevarra, then. Do we really want trouble with the Grey Wardens, though? Even if they hadn’t just ended a Blight, they’re a group you don’t mess with.”

“Let’s look at our options, first,” Varric said. “I’d rather not fight a Warden unless we have to. Supposedly, this Grey Warden came in with some other Fereldan refugees not long ago. There’s a woman not far from here, Lirene, who’s been helping them. She might know where he is.” Varric rubbed his gloved hands together. “So. Tell me about your trip here.”

Hawke’s good cheer vanished in an instant. “No offense, Varric, but we don’t know each other quite well enough yet. There are some…things, I’d rather not talk about.”

“I meant no offense,” Varric said sincerely. “There are a lot of refugees with awful stories coming in. I had hoped you had had an easier time getting here.”

“Fourteen days in a ship’s hold that stank of dead fish, packed in like animals with other refugees,” Carver summed up. “They treated us like animals, too. And it’s just been a few months now that we were free, and could go back and forth in and out of the city.”

“And now that we can, we’ve got a few errands to run,” Hawke recalled. “We’ve got another debt to repay.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “More things you’re not going to tell me?”

“Not yet, at least,” Hawke said, tipping the last of her beer into her mouth. “Come on, let’s go find ourselves a Grey Warden.”

—ROTC—

Lirene’s shop turned out to be packed with refugees, all clamoring for help. “Will everyone please step back!” Lirene shouted above the din. “I can’t deal with all of you at once!”

Hawke shouldered between two refugees asking for help from the healer and caught Lirene’s eye. “If you’re seeking aid, leave your name with my girl,” Lirene said. “We serve everyone here – no one came from Ferelden without trouble. But I can’t give priority to anyone who’s already found work and lodging.”

“I hear you know where I can find a Fereldan Grey Warden?” Hawke asked quietly.

“Only Fereldan Grey Wardens I’ve heard of are sitting on the throne or running Amaranthine,” Lirene said. “We’re out of the Blight’s path now. Why would you need a Warden?”

“The healer was one of them once, wasn’t he?” one of the refugees chimed in. “A Warden?”

Lirene shot the woman a poorly disguised glare. “Well he’s not now. And busy enough without answering fool questions about it.”

“I can understand your protecting him, but we need to find him,” Hawke pressed.

“You see what our people face in Kirkwall,” Lirene said. “This healer serves them without thought for coin. He’s closed their wounds, delivered their children. He’s a good man. I won’t lose him to the blighted Templars.”

Hawke shifted her weight, concealing her hands from onlookers as she held Lirene’s gaze. A minor cantrip flared briefly in her hand, and Lirene’s eyes widened. “I’m no friend of the Templars.”

“Dana…” Carver hissed, stepping closer.

“I mean no harm to your healer,” Hawke said firmly.

“Right,” Carver added. “Perfectly safe if he cooperates.”

“I suppose it isn’t my secret to keep,” Lirene admitted. “Anders has certainly been free enough with his services. He’s in Darktown. Look for the lit lantern. If your need is great enough, Anders will be there.”

Hawke led the way out of the shop, only to be confronted by a pack of angry refugees outside. “We heard you in there, asking about the healer,” their leader growled. Hopper’s hackles raised, and Hawke set a hand on the hound’s head. “We know what happens to mages in this town. And it ain’t gonna happen to him.”

Hawke opened her mouth to respond, but Carver beat her to it. “You want him safe? Don’t pick fights with other Fereldans while the Templars are after us all!”

“Fereldan?” The man looked them up and down, taking a half-step back. “But…you, your clothes…I figured you for a Kirkwaller.” He bowed slightly at the waist. “Maker bless the rule of our King Alistair.”

“Nicely done, Carver,” Hawke murmured as they headed for the stairs to Darktown.

“He always that bold?” Varric asked.

“Carver’s always been an up-front sort of person,” Hawke replied.

“I’m right here, you know,” Carver ground out.

“Which is why I’m being honest,” Hawke said. “You _are _an up-front sort of person. You’ve never hidden how you felt on anything.”

Darktown was, in every sense of the term, a sewer. The lowest rung of Kirkwall’s society clung together in the darkness and filth to keep warm and safe. A blade glinted in the shadow, and Carver reached for the hilt of his greatsword, spearing the man with a glare as Hopper growled angrily. The would-be robber backed off, staring at them.

"It isn't the most picturesque part of Kirkwall, I admit," Varric said. “Not sure how long it’ll take to get my boots clean.”

The group found the rickety stairs to the clinic, only to find the doors shut and the lantern out. “We’ll have to come back, I suppose,” Carver said. “It’s that or find the least filthy spot of ground to sit and wait.”

“Forget it, we’ll come back,” Hawke replied. “Let’s get out of here before someone passes out from the stench. We owe Aveline a visit anyway.” The group tracked filth back through Lowtown and into Hightown, the section of town that served as home for the richest residents of Kirkwall. “Might as well do some shopping while we’re here,” Hawke said.

“Another Fereldan street rat?” A merchant scoffed as they approached. “Are you here to waste my time, or do you actually have coin to spend?”

“Call me that again, I’ll shove a pole up your arse and sell you as a skewer in Lowtown,” Hawke said bluntly. Varric snorted into his fist, and Carver grimaced at Hawke’s words. “Moving on.” They left the sputtering merchant behind, moving towards the Viscount’s Keep.

The Keep was a massive building, with all the gravitas and overbearing presence of any building of its kind. The building was large enough that the Kirkwall guard’s barracks was located there as well, and Hawke hooked a right turn as they entered the building, ignoring the self-absorbed nobles who had taken it upon themselves to play gatekeeper to the Viscount.

They found Aveline in the barracks, studying her assignment sheet. “Aveline!” Hawke called in greeting.

Aveline didn’t turn around. “Hello, Hawke.”

Hawke paused, shifting uncomfortably. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

That got the woman to respond. “What? Oh, right. Sorry, it feels like we just talked. I’ve been keeping an eye on you. Information’s one of the perks of this job. Watch out for Bartrand – he’s a son of a bitch.”

“And on that note, I’d like to introduce you to Varric Tethras, Bartrand’s brother,” Hawke said brightly.

Aveline winced. “I…my apologies.”

Varric waved her off. “Bartrand _is _a right prick sometimes.”

“You know I don’t like it when you have people watch me,” Hawke said, dragging Aveline’s attention back to her. “We’re just trying to get by, and not all of us have nothing to hide.”

“Saved me camping on your doorstep,” Aveline said unapologetically. “After what we went through to get here…” She shrugged. “You’re no child, but I take care of my friends.”

“You, maybe. But if I have to be looking over my shoulder every time I go out, it’s going to be that much harder to get by,” Hawke pressed.

“The places they have me patrolling, I’ve got time,” Aveline replied.

“Still having trouble?” Hawke asked.

“I’ve been pushed out to some dead patrols. Maybe I stepped on someone’s toes. That said, I may have a job for you. There are some bandits out on the Wounded Coast that could use your particular brand of diplomacy.”

“You miss your old life at all?” Hawke asked.

“I loved that life, but there’s a new king for a new Ferelden. Seems cocksure, but from what I hear he fought the Archdemon personally alongside the Hero of Ferelden. But my life as a soldier ended at Ostagar. What about you, Carver?” She looked to Hawke’s brother. “You were there. Do you feel something similar?”

“No,” Carver said flatly.

“All right, then,” Aveline muttered. “Bit of a tit, your brother.”

“Not without reason,” Carver said. “I _know _you told them not to take me. We were both soldiers!”

“I was an officer,” Aveline shot back. “And I follow orders.”

Carver snorted out a laugh. “Considering you’re abusing your power as a guard to have us followed, no, no you don't.”

“I also think of others before myself. You seem tired of that, and that's dangerous.”

“Just when it's not my choice.”

"I'm sorry, Carver, but the guardsmen are held to a higher standard," Aveline claimed. "By the way, now that you're no longer a smuggler you should really get a job. Learn a trade, instead of this expedition I heard you joined."

"A job as what?" Carver demanded. "No one wants to hire a refugee and you won't let me be a guard."

"You really should stop making excuses," Aveline sighed.

“You really should stop sabotaging my attempts to better my life and then criticizing me for not being able to dig my way out of that slum,” Carver snapped.

“Anyway,” Hawke said loudly, cutting off the argument. “Aveline, you said you have something worth doing?”

“My patrols may be a waste of time, but there’s something big in the wind. Someone’s been hiring thugs, enough that my contacts are complaining that there aren’t enough hands to go around. One or two were told to prepare for ‘travelers.’ There’s an ambush, probably for a caravan, although I can’t find any shipments that look worth hitting. Either way, I know you’re looking for work and there’s a band of highwaymen looking for someone to rob.”

“Count us in.”

“If that’s the sort of work you’re looking for, there’s a bounty on some mercenaries I heard about,” Varric offered. “Flint Company. The bounty sheet’s out front of the Chantry.”

“Oh, _that_,” Aveline said as they left the Keep. “Some Chantry brother with a ridiculous set of armor pinned the notice to the board. The arrow caught it right out of the Grand Cleric’s hand.”

“He pinned it with an _arrow_?” Hawke asked. “That’s a bit…excessive.”

“Supposedly, these mercenaries murdered his family,” Aveline explained. “He wants revenge, and I have to say I can understand it.”

Hawke shrugged. “A Chantry brother wants revenge. Don’t they say that’s a sin?”

“Along with gossip and a dozen other things,” Varric said.

—ROTC—

“Not that it isn’t a lovely day for a walk, but weren’t we supposed to be finding some bandits out here?” Hawke asked. After an hour of scouring the path Aveline had led them to, the mage was getting annoyed. “We haven’t seen anything larger than a bird.”

“I could have been wrong,” Aveline admitted. “But I doubt it. I know there’s something going on, Hawke.”

Varric hissed a warning, pointing at a path down the slope. “Traps. Not a hunter’s snare. Someone’s out here.”

“I knew it,” Aveline said triumphantly. “See?”

“I see traps, I don’t see a bandit ambush,” Hawke replied dryly, drawing her staff. “But if there is, you have my sincerest apologies. If not, I’ll be taking the piss out of you for weeks.” Hopper growled, and Hawke nodded in response. “Looks like you were right.”

“It’s not the caravan,” a bandit called.

“No witnesses!” The bandit leader ordered.

It didn’t seem possible that the six foot, four inches tall, armed and armored figure that was Carver Hawke could possibly move as quickly as he did, let alone carrying the greatsword Hawke had given him for his birthday last year. But as limbs hit the ground and blood sprayed, a great deal of bandits learned never to underestimate the speed of someone that large.

For her own part, Hawke finally felt safe stretching her legs, so to speak, and called down a lightning storm on the largest cluster of bandits, bolts searing flesh and igniting clothing as they struck. When the last one fell, Aveline knelt over the corpses, examining them as Hawke and Carver set to looting.

“Well equipped for bandits, but dead is dead and the road is clear,” Aveline surmised, wrinkling her nose as Hawke ripped an enchanted gold ring from the bandit leader’s hand. “Must you do that?”

“Not all of us are gainfully employed, Aveline,” Hawke replied, wiping some blood off the ring and pocketing it. “Most of us have to make do however we can.”

“Well, are you done? Captain Jeven needs to know of this. Let’s get back to the barracks for your reward.”

—ROTC—

Hawke pressed herself into the wall, trying not to listen too closely to Aveline getting chewed out in the guard captain’s office. “I don’t know how they do it where you’re from, Guardswoman, but _I _decide the patrols, not you and your whims! You may have been put up for lieutenant in your first year, but I’ll have no show-offs in my command! Have I made myself clear?” The man didn’t wait for a reply. “Good! Now report to your post before I have you and your Fereldan accomplice jailed!” The door slammed open, and Hawke turned away, spotting a flash of red hair moving past.

Aveline stopped a safe distance from the office door, and Hawke pursed her lips. “A lot of yelling for doing him a favor,” she said delicately.

“We killed a band of highwaymen,” Aveline said, confused. “What does it matter whose patrol it was?”

“Maybe we weren’t supposed to kill those men,” Hawke replied.

“It’s not the first time he’s made me wonder like this,” Aveline said. “Something is very wrong.”

“Who was supposed to have that patrol?” Hawke asked. “Whose toes did we actually step on?”

Aveline glanced at the duty roster. “Brennan.”

“Aveline!” The guardswoman in question called, hurrying over. “I owe you for clearing that ambush. Saved me a mess of trouble. Single patrol – I’d have been dead for sure.”

“Any reason someone would have to want you that way?” Hawke asked.

Brennan blinked in surprise. “You think someone wants me dead?”

“I think we just saved your life and the guard captain chewed out Aveline for it,” Hawke replied. “A lone patrol, though? Sounds like a setup to me.”

“Don’t be paranoid,” Brennan waved her off. “That route was clear for weeks. No need for a larger patrol. After that ambush, the captain reassigned me and I passed the satchel to Donnic for his patrol tonight.”

“What satchel is she talking about?” Hawke asked.

“Pay and order assignments,” Brennan explained. “Captain has us run deliveries to the outposts during light duty. It’s usually just an updated copy of the roster. The satchel for that night was heavy, though.”

“Thanks, Brennan,” Aveline said.

“No, thank you. You’re a good one, no matter what the captain says.”

“So let’s think about this,” Hawke said as Brennan left. “The guard captain’s angry we killed a bunch of bandits and there’s one man out there walking around with a satchel loaded with something on a known route that was supposed to go through that ambush,” Hawke summed up. “Does anyone else think this is awfully suspicious?”

“I do,” Aveline replied grimly.

“You sure you want to pursue this?” Hawke asked. “Not that this is any of my business to begin with, but it is your superior we’re talking about.”

“If a guard has been put at risk, a good captain would want to know _why_,” Aveline said. “And if he’s not a good captain, _I_ want to know why.”

“A dirty guard captain, what a shock,” Varric said dryly. “I take it we’ll be intervening?”

“Absolutely,” Aveline said. “Brennan said Donnic…a good man.” She examined the roster again. “I’ve got his route – a night walk in Lowtown. Let’s make sure his quiet patrol stays that way.”

—ROTC—

“Your guard captain sent one man on a night patrol in Lowtown?” Hawke asked as the remnants of the fourth mob to attack them fled, the lone man bleeding heavily until Varric caught him in the back with a carefully aimed shot. “Is he mad?”

“Entirely possible,” Carver replied, belting on a shiny dagger and tossing a coin purse to Hawke. “Some of this gear looks good enough to sell. Either way, we’re doing a public service clearing these idiot thugs out.”

“More will show up, but we’ve bought Kirkwall a night or two of quiet streets,” Aveline said.

Hawke glanced around. “Hey, Carver, wasn’t there supposed to be a contact for a job waiting for us around here?”

“Next hex over, I think,” Carver replied.

Sure enough, a skittish dwarf was waiting in the next courtyard, who yelped as Hawke cleared her throat. “Sweet mother of partha! You can’t just run up on someone like that!”

“I didn’t mean to startle you. You’re Anso, then?” Hawke asked.

The dwarf nodded. “Are you…the human Athenril told me about? The one looking for work?”

“Yes, I am,” Hawke said. “I used to work with Athenril, and she mentioned a possible lead on a job.” Anso glanced upwards nervously, and Hawke tilted her head. “Are you all right?”

“My apologies, human. I haven’t been on the surface very long, I keep thinking I’ll fall up into that sky any minute!”

Varric chuckled. “Bartrand used to be like that. Got jumpy every time he stepped outside.”

“I’d pay to see that,” Carver muttered.

“But I do need help!” Anso went on. “Rather badly, in fact. Some product of mine has been…misplaced. The men who were supposed to deliver it decided not to. If you were to retrieve that property, I could reward you handsomely.”

“Just what kind of property are we talking about?” Hawke asked. “I need to know what I’m looking for.”

“Very valuable and very illegal,” Anso said softly. “And my client wants it very, very badly. You know how these Templars can be.”

“Lyrium,” Hawke surmised. “You’re smuggling lyrium to the Templars?”

“Of course he is,” Carver groaned. “That’s just bloody great.”

“Shush!” Anso hissed. “By the Paragons, not so loudly!” He clutched at his chest. “My word, I’m not cut out for this. I should have taken that job sweeping stables like Mother insisted.”

“I try not to tangle with Templars,” Hawke said. “Make it worth my time, and I’ll help you.” The two dickered out a price, and shortly afterwards the group was leaving the hex to search for Donnic.

It was only when they heard the sounds of a struggle that they located their lone guardsman, bleeding from a handful of minor injuries and with a half-dozen dead bandits at his feet. The quartet fell upon the bandits from behind, but Donnic was laying on the ground in a pool of blood by the time they cut down the last bandit.

Carver knelt, holding a hand beneath Donnic’s nose. “He’s breathing, barely.”

“Hawke, can you do anything?”

Hawke gave her a pained look. “Healing’s never been my strength, and…Aveline, he’s a _guard_.”

“So am I,” Aveline challenged.

“And you already know I’m a mage,” Hawke hissed.

“Hawke, _please_!”

The mage groaned. “Fine. Carver, get an elfroot potion, smear some on his lips.” She healed what she could of the man’s injuries, hurriedly backing away as Donnic’s eyes fluttered open.

“Who…Aveline?” The man gave her a soft grin. “You’re a beautiful sight.”

Aveline’s cheeks pinked. “Guardsman?”

The man pulled himself upright. “I mean, I was on patrol, and they came out of nowhere,” he reported. “I took a few down but there were too many at once.” Hawke knelt, finding a dropped satchel bearing the insignia of the Kirkwall guard under one of the corpses. “The captain said this route was supposed to be quiet.”

“Luckily we showed up when we did,” Varric said. “You would have been done for if Aveline hadn’t brought us down here.”

“The seal of the viscount,” Carver said, flipping through the contents of the satchel. “Office details, city accounts.”

“Valuable to a guild of thieves,” Hawke added. “Once is a suspicious coincidence. Twice means that something’s rotten.”

“A sacrificial delivery with one of our own,” Aveline growled. “Captain Jeven will answer for this.”

“Selling out his own,” Hawke shook her head. “Forget guard captain, this man needs to be in government.”

“Not now, Hawke,” Aveline sighed. “Jeven needs to see how justice works. This goes to the office of the viscount. This _will_ be known.”

“Guardsman, can you make it back to the barracks?” Hawke asked. Donnic nodded. “Good. We’ve got other business tonight, but come morning we’ll be rattling some cages at the Viscount’s Keep.”

Looting the remaining corpses didn’t take long, as each of the highwaymen only had a few silvers. Still, it was progress. Fifty sovereigns seemed an impossible goal, but it was their best way out of Lowtown.

More thugs were prowling the alienage outside where Anso said his cargo had been taken, and the contents of their pockets provided another minor donation to the Hawke family fund. Hawke found a note stashed under a glowing cobblestone while looting and stuffed it into a pocket to read later. The square was silent, and Hawke glanced around. “I guess these thugs being around means everyone keeps their doors barred at night.”

The abandoned house was less than abandoned – a dozen thugs were waiting inside, clearly expecting company. Hawke’s group was more than a match for a pack of street thugs, and looting the bodies only took a few moments. Checking the box where Anso’s stolen lyrium was supposed to be took even less time.

“It’s empty,” Hawke said after a moment of staring into the empty chest. “Varric? Please tell me my eyes are going.”

“Waste of bloody time,” Varric growled, shutting the chest. “Who put us up to this?”

“I say we ask Anso what the point of killing all those people was,” Hawke said. “Come on.”

When they emerged, over a dozen more thugs were waiting for them. “That’s not the elf!” Their leader said, pulling off her helmet. “Who is that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” one of the thugs said. “We were told to kill whoever enters the house.”

“Aveline?”

“Won’t see me complaining if we clean up the streets a little,” Aveline muttered.

A few minutes of violence later, Hawke grabbed the rapidly expiring leader by the front of her armor. “Who sent you? Where’s the cargo?” The woman gurgled out a last breath, blood flecking her lips thanks to the pack of crossbow bolts in her left lung, and Hawke dropped the corpse. “Wonderful.”

“I don’t know who you are, friend, but you’ve made a serious mistake coming here,” a voice called from the entrance to the alienage square. “Lieutenant! I want everyone in the clearing, now!”

However many men he expected to storm the square, one arrived. In response to his call, a man staggered around the corner, blood splattering the ground through a rent in his armor. “Captain…” the man collapsed, and a new voice rang out.

“Your men are dead.” A white-haired elf in spiked armor strode around the corner almost casually despite the amount of blood on his armor. “And your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you can.”

“You’re going nowhere, slave,” the captain growled, grabbing the elf by the arm.

In response, the elf suddenly flared out a blue aura, before turning and shoving his hand through the man’s chest almost effortlessly. “I am _no one’s slave_,” the elf hissed, a gout of blood erupting from the slaver captain’s mouth. He dropped the corpse, before turning back to Hawke and her companions. “I apologize. When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters, I had no idea they’d be so…numerous.”

“So you were responsible for this?” Hawke asked, calmly ignoring the urge to scream and run away from the elf who could crush people’s hearts in their chests.

“I’m the reason you’re here, yes,” the elf said, looking out over the alienage. In the torchlight, Hawke could see the elf had rather pleasant features, with striking green eyes. Hawke spotted faint white tattoo lines on the elf’s face, tracing down his chin and under his armor. “My name is Fenris. These men were Imperial bounty hunters seeking to recover a magister’s lost property, namely myself. They were trying to lure me into the open. Crude as their methods were, I could not face them alone. Thankfully, Anso chose wisely.”

“So everything Anso said was a lie, then?” Hawke asked tightly.

“Not everything,” Fenris said. “Your employer was simply not who you believed.”

“Seems like a lot of effort to find one slave,” Hawke remarked, eyeing the markings again. “But you’re no ordinary slave, are you. Does this have something to do with those markings?”

Fenris nodded. “I imagine I must look strange to you. I did not receive these markings by choice. Even so, they have served me well. Without them I would still be a slave.”

“If they were really trying to recapture you, then I’m happy I helped,” Hawke said. “You won’t find me crying over slavers.”

“I have met few in my travels who have sought anything more than personal gain. If I may ask, what was in the chest? The one they kept in the house?”

Hawke blinked. “You mean there was actually supposed to be something in the chest? It was empty.”

The elf’s shoulders dropped slightly. “I suppose it was too much to hope for. Even so, I had to know. It was bait, nothing more.”

“You know, you didn’t need to lie to get my help,” Hawke remarked, still annoyed.

“That remains to be seen,” Fenris said flatly, examining the dead captain’s corpse. He pulled a folded paper from a pouch on the body’s belt, snarling as he saw the markings at the bottom of the bloodstained orders. “It’s as I thought. My former master accompanied them to the city. I know you have questions, but I must confront him before he flees. I will need your help.”

Hawke paused. “If I help you, will you help me? We have some slavers of our own to deal with.”

Fenris paused. “Are you escaped slaves as well?”

“No, but it’s a kind of a long story,” Hawke said. “Suffice to say we know where a lot of slavers are and plan to give them a very bad evening.”

“Then I will assist you,” Fenris said immediately. “Danarius wants to strip the flesh from my bones and has sent so many hunters that I have lost count. And before that, he kept me on a leash like a Qunari mage, a personal pet to mock Qunari custom.”

Hawke smiled mirthlessly. “Lovely. Where is he?”

“The magister is staying at a mansion in Hightown,” Fenris replied. Hawke shared a nervous glance with Carver. “We must enter before morning.”

“If it’s the mansion we’re thinking of, we may solve both our problems at once,” Hawke said.

—ROTC—

_The Free Marches  
The Free Marches are not a kingdom, nor even a nation in the most basic sense. People from that region dislike even being lumped together as "Marchers." Rather, they are a collection of independent city-states united only when it suits them; in this respect, they resemble the Bannorn before the arrival of King Calenhad. Because of this, the Free Marches have no capital, and what passes for a central government exists only sporadically, a sort of Landsmeet that convenes only during times of crisis._

_I arrived in time for the Grand Tourney while it was on in Tantervale--a remarkable sight indeed. I saw Avvar hillsmen test their mettle against Orlesian Chevaliers, riders from the Anderfels buying Nevarran cavalry horses, Antivan craftsmen selling their wares to Tevinter mages. All of Thedas was on display._

_\--From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of A Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.


	4. Slavers and Wardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party grows as Hawke recruits Fenris properly and finds herself a Grey Warden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Kirkwall – Hightown  
At the height of the Tevinter Imperium's slave trade, Kirkwall's elite prospered beyond dreams of avarice. Hightown was built for the wealthiest slavers, its glitzy mansions rising atop a great wall of rock that borders, on one side, the Waking Sea. Lowtown cowered on its other side until Kirkwall's slaves rose to plunder and destroy Hightown's riches._

_Today, Hightown's prominent buildings are the Keep, home to the ruling viscount, and the chantry, home to the grand cleric and the city's religious center. Both are converted estates that once housed wealthy magisters, rebuilt and converted after the uprising._

_—From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi_

—ROTC—

It wasn’t. The mansion Fenris led them to was relatively close to the old Amell estate, and the elf glared up at the windows of the mansion. “Danarius may know we’re here. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Hawke glanced over at Fenris. “Who is this Danarius, anyway?”

“A magister of the Tevinter Imperium,” Fenris said.

“Oh, is that all?” Varric asked. “Nothing to worry about, then.”

“There, he is a wealthy mage with great influence. Here, he is but a man who sweats like any other when death comes for him.”

“He may have prepared some magical defenses,” Hawke warned.

“I expect he will, but they will not keep me from him,” Fenris declared. He forced the lock, and they entered the mansion.

Sure enough, there were packs of shades waiting for them inside, and Hawke immediately opened up with a fireball as Varric put a bolt through what passed for another shade’s face.

Fenris proved to be handy with his greatsword, bisecting another shade almost immediately as Carver and Aveline hacked apart the remaining shades. “He sends spirits to do his fighting for him,” the elf snarled. “_Danarius!_ Can you hear me? Your pets cannot stop us!”

More shades awaited them in the main hall of the darkened mansion, along with a handful of traps and a single Rage demon. The group methodically cleared the mansion room by room, but when the last demon fell, Fenris charged up the steps to the balcony where the bedchambers were.

“There’s something big here,” Hawke warned.

“It won’t stop me,” Fenris said, kicking in the door, only to be blown across the room by a pulse of magic.

Hawke expected this Danarius to emerge, slinging spells and turning their own blood against them, but instead a gaunt, towering figure entered the foyer, a rictus grin on its face. Hawke had never seen one before, but her father had described an Arcane Horror before – the corpse of a mage, possessed by a demon of Pride or something of a similar degree of power.

Then Fenris’s greatsword sheared through its bony neck, and the demon collapsed, the head bouncing down the steps as the body crumpled.

Fenris shouldered through the doorway to the last room, only to stop short. “_Gone_,” he said softly. “I had hoped…” He shook his head. “No, it doesn’t matter any longer.”

“You hurt?” Hawke asked, panting.

“I assume Danarius left valuables behind,” Fenris said distantly. “Take them if you wish. I…need some air.” He left through the front door, leaving Hawke, Aveline, Carver, and Varric standing alone in the deserted mansion.

“So he seems nice,” Varric said after a few moments.

“See what you can find,” Hawke said to Carver. “If there’s some ornaments or something we can sell…”

“I’m not much of a thief,” Carver said. “But I’ll look around. You go talk to him.”

Hawke found Fenris standing outside, the elf staring aimlessly into the courtyard. “It never ends,” he said as Hawke approached. “I escaped a land of dark magic only to have it hunt me at every turn. It is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul.” He turned to Hawke. “And now I find myself in the company of yet another mage.” Hawke swallowed hard. “I saw you casting spells inside. I should have realized sooner what you really were.” He pushed off the wall, and Hawke tensed, knowing there was no way she could stop him from ripping her heart out if he decided that was best. “Tell me, then: What manner of mage are you? What is it that you seek?”

“I’m just trying to get by,” Hawke said. “Take care of me and mine.”

“Yet I have seen many crimes done in the name of survival,” Fenris replied.

“If you have a problem with my sister, you have a problem with me,” Carver said, coming up behind Hawke. His pockets clinked as he moved.

“I imagine I appear ungrateful,” Fenris said, glancing at Carver. “If so, I apologize, for nothing could be further from the truth. I did not find Danarius, but I still owe you a debt. Here is all the coin I have, as Anso promised.” He handed over a sack of coin, and Hawke tucked it away, not wanting to offend by counting it in front of an elf who could rip people’s hearts out.

“You didn’t seem all that thrilled with me a moment ago,” Hawke said.

“You are not Danarius,” Fenris replied. “Whether you are anything like him remains to be seen.”

“You mentioned little about this Danarius, other than he’s a magister,” Hawke said.

“In Tevinter, the magisters hold all the power – over the Chantry, over the Imperial court, over life itself. It is nothing for one to own a slave. Danarius had many, but none he valued so much as me. I carved my path to freedom in blood. I left that life behind, yet his bounty hunters follow me no matter where I go. I will run no longer.”

“What is so special about these markings that he wants them back?”

“They are all he wants,” Fenris said darkly. “They are lyrium, burned into my flesh to provide the power that Danarius required of his pet. And now he wishes his precious investment returned, even if he must rip it from my corpse. I know nothing of the ritual that placed these markings on me. It was Danarius’s choice, one he now regrets.”

“And these abilities you have come from those markings?”

“Some of them, yes,” Fenris said. “All I know is that even in the Imperium, warriors such as myself are rare. Perhaps they believe I should feel honored?” He shook his head. “But we should not waste time here. You assisted me in my task, I shall assist you in yours.”

Hawke led them to Darktown, where the entrance to the cellar of the old Amell estate was located, not far from where the mage Warden’s clinic was said to be. “Well, this looks like the place,” Carver said. “If the cellars go this far, maybe we were important.”

There were slaver guards inside, men and women who tried to raise the alarm only to be cut down by Hawke’s growing group of companions. “Definitely the place,” Carver said, pointing at a shield on the wall. “That’s the Amell family crest. Mother described it once.”

“Why are we here?” Fenris asked. “Besides the obvious.”

“This estate used to belong to our family,” Hawke explained. “There’s a will in the family vault around here someplace.” Fenris nodded, wiping blood from his blade.

More slavers waited ahead in the cellars, disorganized groups that fell quickly enough to their combined strength. Hawke recovered some documents for later perusal that looked to be related to the family, stuffing them in her belt.

“Did that bastard Gamlen put you up to this?” the master slaver demanded, a mage staff across his back. “I knew I should have slit his -_gurk_!” Varric’s crossbow bolt caught him in the neck, and the man dropped, gurgling around the blood coming from his throat.

“Somebody order a shot to the face?” the dwarf asked, reloading.

When the last slaver fell, the group set to looting, Hawke fishing a heavy key from the dead slaver mage’s robes. Hurrying up a set of stairs, they entered the vault using the key, recovering a good ten sovereign’s worth of coin from one of the chests as Hawke gingerly pulled a sheaf of documents from another.

“So this is it?” Carver asked. “Grandfather’s will? Let’s just take it back to Mother and be done with it.”

They cut through another dozen slavers on their way out of the estate, emerging into Hightown’s darkened streets. “I guess this makes us even,” Hawke said to Fenris. “Thank you.”

“It was a pleasure,” Fenris said darkly. “Slavers are nobody’s friends.”

“I’m planning an expedition I might need help with,” Hawke said. “Anyone with your skill with a blade would be more than welcome. Would you be interested in coming along?”

Fenris shrugged. “If I do not find something better to do. Should you ever have need of me, I will be there. If Danarius wishes his mansion back, he is free to return and claim it. You can find me there.”

—ROTC—

“So I’m just saying, blood’s blood and all, but you _are _taking advantage of my hospitality,” Gamlen was saying as Hawke and Carver reentered the house. “It’s only fair if you make something of a…monthly contribution-”

Leandra’s jaw dropped. “You sold my children into servitude! Now you’re asking me to pay rent?”

Hawke glared at Gamlen. “Er…maybe just put something towards food,” he said.

“We found the will,” Hawke said. Gamlen flinched.

“Grandfather left everything to Mother and us,” Carver said. “I guess he had some sense after all.” He handed the will to his mother. “See for yourself.”

Gamlen stammered. “I should…maybe…”

“To my daughter Leandra, and all children born of her, the estate in Hightown and all associated revenues,” Leandra read off.

“We have a home, Mother,” Hawke said softly. “A real home.”

“They forgave me,” Leandra breathed. “Mother forgave me. But…Gamlen, how could you?”

“You’re the one who ran away, Leandra,” Gamlen said accusingly. “What happened to ‘love is so much more important than money,’ eh?”

“It is!”

“You didn’t even come home for the funeral!”

“The twins were a week old!”

“We all have our burdens,” Gamlen sighed. “Mine was looking after a life you abandoned. How long was I supposed to wait?”

“If it wasn’t for the Blight, would we ever have come back here?” Hawke asked, trying to play peacemaker.

“I always thought I would,” Leandra admitted. “But I suppose you three are Fereldan to your toes.”

“Look, sister, I’m sorry,” Gamlen said. “I shouldn’t have done it, but I did. And there’s nothing I can do to get it back.”

“I don’t expect that, Gamlen,” Leandra replied. “It’s enough to know that Mother and Father didn’t die angry. I’ll petition the Viscount for rights to reclaim the estate. Maker willing, you’ll have your ‘house’ back within weeks.”

“You don’t have the coin or standing to even get an audience with the viscount,” Gamlen said. “You’ve got to be someone in this city to live in that house again.”

“Then I had better get started,” Leandra declared. Gamlen merely shook his head, and Hawke found Carver looking into the fire.

“Thinking of life in Hightown?”

“We’re still a long way from cowing Templars with our titles, Dana,” Carver said.

“Something you would do differently?”

“It’s not up to me,” Carver replied. “We’re on pace to recover an old name for an old woman. And when we’re done, I don’t know. I guess we’ll sit around thinking about how great we used to be?” He turned away from the fire, looking at Hawke. “Mother didn’t even want that life back until we got dumped here. And you only care because we’re under Templar scrutiny.”

“Very well, Carver,” Hawke said irritably. “What’s your grand plan?”

“I’d look forward, make something new. Stop paying debts for old men. And if I had to go backward, I’m not looking for ancient names. I’d fix what’s important. What went wrong.”

“We can’t just go back,” Hawke said.

“We wouldn’t need to if you’d done it right. Lothering was our home, not this place. We could have stood our ground. You could have stopped that ogre from killing Bethany.”

Hawke flinched. “You’re right,” she said after a minute.

Carver blinked in surprise. “What?”

Hawke stared him down. “I’d change all of that if I could. But we don’t have that option. _And you know it_. So don’t take that out on me.”

After a long moment, Carver crumbled. “I feel…I don’t know. It’s like Mother, taking everything out on us. She was just scared. I don’t have a place in the life she’s trying to bring back. I’m here if you need me, but I must find my own way.”

“I would expect nothing less of you, Carver,” Hawke said tiredly. “But for now, it’s been a long, _long _night. You packing it in?” Carver nodded, already heading for bed. Hawke paused long enough to read a note from Athenril concerning a job lead before starting to head to bed herself. She stopped, finding her Mother sitting up still.

“When I told your grandmother I was marrying your father, she threatened to disown me,” Leandra said. “She said my children would be mongrels. My father wanted to lock me in, but she told him ‘it’s her life, let her ruin it.’ I wrote to her when each of you were born. She never wrote back. I’m glad she didn’t die hating me.”

“We have the will, it proves the estate is yours,” Hawke said. “Can we move there soon?”

“Technically, the house is now property of the viscount, since its ‘owner’ died without an heir,” Leandra replied. “If we went there now, we would just be squatters. But if the viscount acknowledges our rights, we can get back more than the house. We can get back our name.”

“I have to agree with Carver,” Hawke said. “Chasing down an old name isn’t worth it. Reclaiming the house will make us comfortable, but I can’t see the need in the name that you do.”

“When I was a girl, your grandmother was the young, beautiful, noble mother all my friends wished they had,” Leandra explained. “She might have had a hard time accepting it at first, but she would have loved you. All three of you.”

“Even though two of us were mages?” Hawke asked.

Instantly, Leandra’s face fell, and Hawke realized she had said the wrong thing. “Oh, Bethany…she was such a sweet little girl. Never cried, just looked at you with those big eyes.”

Hawke swallowed hard. “She was so young to be taken from us.”

“I just keep thinking there’s something we could have done,” Leandra rasped, holding back tears. “It’s killing me. I remember that awful creature reaching down and…” She shook her head. “Eighteen years of loving and feeding and raising and…that was it.”

“Blame the darkspawn, not yourself,” Hawke said. “There’s nothing any of us could have done.”

“The darkspawn would have been happy with any prey,” Leandra said bitterly. “It was my fault it was Bethany. There were four of us when the Blight began. It will never be over while there are just three.”

“So what’s our next move?” Hawke asked, trying to change the subject.

“I’m writing to the viscount,” Leandra replied. “I’ll have an audience soon, but probably not until after Bartrand’s expedition leaves. I couldn’t do anything for Bethany, but with luck, I can at least give us a home.”

—ROTC—

“Here, I got you something,” Hawke said the next morning.

Carver raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“We ended on a tense note last time,” Hawke replied, holding out the bundle of letters. “Take it as you will.”

Carver skimmed through the first one. “These are by Father? Are you sure they aren’t meant for you? I bet another mage could get more out of them.”

“I think you’ll find them more interesting,” Hawke said. “I picked them up from the Gallows this morning.”

“You went to the Gallows without me?” Carver asked. “Why would you take such a risk?”

“To find out more about this Tobrius, and about Father,” Hawke replied. “And about the Templar he corresponded with.”

“Father wrote to a Templar?”

“Well, not directly, they couldn’t write directly to each other,” Hawke explained. “But he allowed Father to leave Kirkwall. This man is responsible for Father going free. And if I don’t miss my guess, he’s your namesake. Ser Maurevar Carver.”

“A Templar? Have we met a Templar who isn’t a colossal prig?”

“Father must have felt he was worth honoring,” Hawke said.

Carver looked down at the letters again. “A man who let him look ahead, and a name that would always mean ‘skill thoughtfully applied.’”

“Seems like he thought it held some promise,” Hawke said with a smile.

“Not a link back, but how to go forward,” Carver mused. “That’s what I was to him. I…don’t know what to say. Except…thank you.”

—ROTC—

“Huh,” Athenril said as they approached. “I just lost a sovereign. Didn’t think you’d stoop to our kind again. Or are you not too proud to make some coin?”

“No promises,” Hawke said. “But I’ll hear what you have to say.”

“Since you stormed off, we don’t have anyone who can quite work your magic, if you know what I mean,” Athenril explained. “I sent some men to fence a bit of cargo down at the docks. Haven’t seen them since. I’d pay good silver for the safe return of them or the goods.”

“Anyone I know?” Hawke asked.

“When you left, we had to take on new Fereldan…volunteers,” Athenril said. “Lad named Pryce was leading them. No one of your caliber.”

The two hashed out the details, and Hawke nodded, shaking hands with Athenril. “Consider it a deal.”

They cut across Hightown, moving past the Chantry. “These missing men were sent to fence some luxury goods to the Carta, luxury goods go for a lot more down there,” Hawke explained to her companions as they walked away. “We’ll check the docks tonight. This man Pryce was meant to meet the Carta buyers there.”

“You there, Fereldan,” a nearby man interrupted. Hawke vaguely recognized him as a magistrate. “I wish to speak with you.” Hawke stopped, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve heard you have dealings with certain…elements…in the city. You can get things done ‘on the sly’ as they say?”

“That’s a fancy way to put it,” Hawke said. “And a rather base accusation.”

“I am a magistrate in this city and as such, I wish to hire you for a small, albeit important, job. A man I sentenced to a life in prison has escaped custody. He’s been tracked to an abandoned ruin outside the city.”

“A request that should have been made of the guard,” Aveline said.

The magistrate ignored Aveline, and Hawke decided to let it pass. “Why is there such a clamor to catch this man?” she asked. “What has he done?”

“He’s escaped,” the magistrate replied coolly. “That’s reason enough to catch him.”

Hawke paused. “I see. Is there anything else I need to know?”

“There is something, yes. There are…creatures, in the ruins. The guards I sent are ill-equipped to deal with such beasts.”

“Do you know what manner of beasts they are?”

The magistrate shook his head. “I don’t know what they look like. I’ve never seen one myself. The guards say these things have already torn through a full company of men.”

“Then wouldn’t it be easier to simply seal up the entrance and let the beasts take care of him?” Hawke asked.

“I believe in justice, Fereldan, not unbridled slaughter,” the magistrate replied. “I will not let prisoners be eaten just because I don’t want to get my hands dirty.”

“But this is already dirty enough that you’d rather send me instead of more guards,” Hawke said. “I hope you realize this won’t be cheap.”

“Bring the fugitive in alive, quickly and quietly. Not only will you be well-paid, you’ll have the gratitude of a city magistrate. Useful for a refugee, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Speaking of magistrates,” Aveline said as the magistrate stalked off, “I spoke with the seneschal this morning. Let’s head towards the Keep. I don’t think any of us want to miss this.

As they kept moving towards the Keep, Varric spoke up. “So, elf. That thing you do with your hand...”

Fenris sighed. “I can already tell this isn't going anywhere pleasant.”

Varric pressed on. “I bet that makes pickpocketing easier.”

Fenris paused. “I'll try it sometime and find out.”

—ROTC—

“How dare you!” Jeven bellowed as two guards seized his arms. “I am guard captain, I won’t be treated like this!” He spotted Aveline watching smugly and turned a searing glare on her. “Fereldan _bitch_! This was none of your affair. I’ll see you hanged! Quartered! This will not stand!”

“We found a number of debts to…suspect peoples,” Seneschal Bran said delicately as Jeven was hauled away. “Such poor character. But you, Aveline Vallen, have proven your loyalty and ability.”

“The guard deserves better than him, messere,” Aveline replied.

“Indeed,” Bran said. “The viscount would have you put your care for the men into direct practice.” Aveline’s eyes widened. “You will assume the captain’s job.”

“What?”

“In due time, of course,” Bran went on. “There will be training, approvals. Months, at least. But who better to rebuild respect than the woman who exposed this…embarrassment. Resolve any outstanding business, Guardswoman. You will be very busy.”

A few minutes later, Aveline was already exasperated with her new job. “Varric, _no_.”

“But you’re the captain, or you will be. It’ll be easy,” Varric implored.

“I’m not petitioning the viscount to help you steal ownership of the Hanged Man,” Aveline said flatly.

Varric looked affronted. “Steal? Madam, you wound me!”

“I’m about to!” Varric beat a hasty retreat as Aveline pointed at the door.

“Excited about your new job?” Hawke asked, chuckling at the interplay. “Big changes, huh?”

“Big changes,” Aveline agreed. “Captain of the guard.” She raised an eyebrow, looking at Hawke. “Is this your turn now to try and get the law on your side?”

Hawke scoffed. “Please. Jeven was just arrested not for stealing, but for doing it from the wrong people. I don’t expect you to go the same way.” She paused. “You aren’t going to let me have _any _fun, are you.”

“I think that’s best for everyone,” Aveline said firmly.

“Well, either way, I look forward to working with you, Guard-Captain Aveline.”

“Strange, isn’t it?” Aveline said. “Captain of the guard. Thank you for helping me get here, Hawke. It’s where I should be.”

To his credit, Carver waited until they were outside before grumbling. “Now there’s no way I’ll _ever_ be a guard.”

“You’re too good for them anyway,” Hawke said. “I think it’s absurd that she deliberately destroyed your chance at getting a job with the guard, but we’re not going to change her mind.”

But little would have, Hawke thought. In the year and change she had spent in Kirkwall, she had taken the measure of the city, and had found it deeply wanting in many respects. The city had no standing army at all, only an undermanned and underfunded city guard that was spread thin enough that Hawke had found steady work doing their job. If the city were assaulted from without, the only real opposition would come from the Qunari compound and from the Templars. Neither of which would offer any opposition if their territory was left alone.

Which is why the city could be assaulted from _within_ – Kirkwall was, undoubtedly, a Chantry city. The Templar Knight-Commander held far greater influence than she had any right to in the running of the city, and as a result crime was brazen, organized, and rampant. Half of the population appeared to live like rats in the filth of Darktown. The better-off common folk lived in Lowtown, while those rich enough led comfortable lives in mansions in Hightown. And nobody seemed even vaguely interested in changing the state of things, but it would take someone with greater influence than Hawke knew she would ever have to do that. Aveline would have something approaching the influence, but everything she had seen from Aveline told her little in Kirkwall would actually change.

“Feel like heading to Darktown, seeing if that lantern’s lit?” Hawke asked.

“Might as well,” Carver sighed. “Varric, you coming?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” the dwarf replied.

Luckily enough, the lantern was lit, and the Hawke siblings and Varric entered the clinic, watching as a mage – presumably the Anders Lirene had mentioned – healed a boy’s broken leg. He sagged from the effort, turning away as the family embraced and leaning against a support pillar. He stiffened as Hawke and her companions approached, before seizing a nearby mage staff and turning on his heel, his voice booming in the enclosed space.

“I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation,” he declared. “Why do you threaten it?”

“I’m just here to talk,” Hawke said, holding up a placating hand.

“We’re interested in getting into the Deep Roads,” Varric chimed in. “Rumor has it you were a Warden. Do you know a way?”

The mage eyed them warily. “Did the Wardens send you to bring me back? I’m not going. Those bastards made me get rid of my cat. Poor Ser Pounce-a-lot. He hated the Deep Roads.”

Hawke stared at him a moment, trying to keep up with the sudden shift in topic. “You had a cat named Ser Pounce-a-lot? In the Deep Roads?”

“He was a gift. A noble beast. Almost got ripped in half by a genlock once. He swatted the bugger on the nose. Drew blood, too. But the blighted Wardens said he ‘made me too soft.’ I had to give him to a friend in Amaranthine.”

“So you came to Kirkwall just to escape the Wardens?” Hawke asked, unsure of how to deal with that tidbit of information.

“You say that like it’s a small thing,” the mage said. “Yes, I’m here because there’s no Warden outpost, no darkspawn, and whole host of refugees to blend in with. And some reasons of my own.”

“I’ve always heard that joining the Wardens is for life,” Hawke remarked.

“That’s partly true,” Anders admitted. “The ‘hopelessly tainted by the darkspawn,’ and ‘plagued by nightmares about the Archdemon’ parts don’t go away. But it turns out if you hide well, you don’t have to wear the uniform or go to the parties.”

Hawke shrugged. “Fair enough. I’m part of an expedition into the Deep Roads. Any information you have could save people’s lives.”

“I will die a happy man if I never think about the blighted Deep Roads again. You can’t imagine what I’ve come through to get here. I’m not interested.” Anders paused. “Although, a favor for a favor. Does that sound like a fair deal? You help me, I’ll help you?”

“I’m not much of a healer,” Hawke warned, looking around. “I’m not sure how much help I could be. And let’s be more specific. I don’t do anything involving children or animals.”

“I have a Warden map of the depths in this area,” Anders said. “But there’s a price.”

“We always intended to make it worth your while,” Varric said.

Anders nodded. “I came to Kirkwall to aid a friend. A mage. A prisoner in in the wretched Gallows. The Templars learned of my plans to free him. Help me bring him safely past them, and you shall have your maps.”

“That’s a pretty serious risk,” Hawke said. “Who’s this friend that’s worth risking this?”

“His name is Karl Thekla,” Anders replied. “He was sent here from Ferelden when Kirkwall’s Circle required new talent. His last letter said the Knight-Commander was turning the Circle into a prison. Mages are locked in their cells, refused appearances at court, made Tranquil for the slightest crimes. I told him I would come.”

“Can’t see how you could not, after hearing that,” Hawke said. “How did the Templars find out? Couldn’t this be a trap, if they know?”

“I don’t know,” Anders admitted. “I had been exchanging notes with Karl through a maidservant in the Gallows. Then the letters stopped coming.”

“If the letters have stopped coming, how do you plan to break him out of the Circle?”

“I’m hoping it won’t come to that,” Anders said hastily. “I sent Karl a message to meet me in the chantry tonight. Maker willing, he’ll be there, alone. But if there are Templars with him, I swear, I’ll free him from them. No matter the cost.”

“I would help any mage in such circumstances, map or no,” Hawke declared. “But I will need that map when this is over.”

“Better make this good,” Carver remarked. “We’re risking a lot if we anger the Templars.”

“Meet me at the Chantry tonight,” Anders said. “We’ll ensure that no matter who is with Karl, we all walk away free.”

—ROTC—

Fenris deftly extracted the cork on a bottle of wine, taking a pull directly from the bottle. “Agreggio Pavali. There are six bottles in the cellar. Danarius used to have me pour it for his guests. My appearance intimidated them, he said, which he enjoyed.”

“Sounds like a real winner,” Hawke remarked. “You were a servant as well?”

“I was his slave,” Fenris said. “I propped up the furniture, when he was so inclined.” He took another pull on the bottle, before flinging it against the wall, glass shattering against the stone. “It’s good I can still take pleasure in the small things.”

“You could have offered me a glass first, you know,” Hawke snarked.

“There’s more, if you’re really interested,” Fenris offered.

“Why Fenris, are you trying to get me drunk?” Fenris’s face went slack for a moment, and Hawke raised a hand. “Perish the thought. How else would you redecorate the walls?”

Fenris gave a genuine laugh, before he sobered. “I’ve wanted to leave my past behind me. But it won’t stay there.” He sat down on a bench, rubbing his hands together. “Tell me, have you never wanted to return to Ferelden?”

“Even if I had the money, I have no home left to return to,” Hawke said softly.

“The Blight is over,” Fenris pointed out. “You could rebuild what you lost. Do you truly not want to?”

“My mother came from Kirkwall,” Hawke replied. “Our heritage is here. My family is here.”

“Having a place where you can put down roots,” Fenris surmised. “I understand. Still, to have the option must be gratifying.”

“Do you intend to keep living here?”

“I haven’t decided,” Fenris admitted. “For now, it’s as good as any other place. I would return to Seheron if I could, but there is no life for me there.”

“Is that where you’re from?” Hawke asked.

“So I’ve been told.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “You don’t remember? Were you very young when you left, then?”

“Perhaps,” Fenris said evasively.

Sensing his discomfort, Hawke changed the subject. “Have you been on the run long?”

“Three years,” Fenris said. “Danarius has a way of finding me – perhaps it is the markings – but whatever the means, it never takes him long to follow. This is the first time I’ve given him reason to pause. I suppose there are advantages in numbers.”

“Haven’t you sought help before?” Hawke asked.

“Hirelings, when I could steal the coin. Never anyone of substance – until you. Danarius will not give up, however. I await his return.”

“And what if he does give up?” Hawke asked. “What then?”

“Then I go to him,” Fenris said darkly. “I will not live with a wolf at my back.”

“Sounds like the right idea to me,” Hawke said. “My family and I had to keep moving whenever Templars got wise to the fact that we were mages. If I could have done something different…” She shook her head. “You mentioned putting down roots. If you’re looking to start a life, you could stay.”

“I could see myself staying, for the right reasons,” Fenris remarked. “I should thank you again for helping me against the hunters. Had I known Anso would find me a woman so capable, I might have asked him to look sooner.”

“It turned out well enough,” Hawke said evasively.

Fenris smiled. “It did at that.” He looked down at his feet. “I will not keep you longer. Another time, perhaps.”

“Oh, I was hoping you’d come down to the docks with me,” Hawke said. “We could use your help.”

Fenris strapped on his greatsword. “Lead the way.”

Hawke, Carver, Varric, and Fenris entered the dockside neighborhood of Kirkwall that evening, looking around warily. “Keep alert,” Hawke said unnecessarily. “Athenril’s men will be around here someplace.”

“That’s Athenril’s whelp,” they heard growled up ahead. “Kill him!”

A handful of Coterie assassins were approaching a boy, who sprinted past Hawke as they drew weapons and engaged. Killing them all didn’t take long, and Hawke slung her staff, warily approaching the boy. “You’re Pryce?”

“Thank you,” the boy rasped. “I thought them Coterie men had me for sure. I guess the whole thing was a trap. There was no dwarves when I went to make the trade, just Coterie, waiting to kill us.” Hawke glanced over, spotting the chest full of goods Athenril had sent. “They got the rest of the boys. I ran. I was hoping they wouldn’t find me here, but they did.”

“The Coterie controls most of the crime in Kirkwall,” Hawke said. “And they aren’t fond of competition. You got lucky. You’re a bit young to be doing this.”

“I’m fifteen,” Pryce objected. “But I can usually pass for a man.”

“To who?” Hawke asked incredulously.

Pryce scowled. “My mama was ripped in two by one of them big horned darkspawn.” Hawke’s cheek twitched. “It’s just me and my sisters now. Working for Athenril’s the only way to feed the girls.”

Hawke rubbed at her forehead. “Why not take what Athenril gave you and start fresh somewhere outside of Kirkwall?”

“In Lothering, there were always families willing to take in a strong lad and a few girls to help with the cooking,” Carver offered.

“My father was a farmer,” Pryce mused. “Before the darkspawn got him. I’d rather do that than…work for Athenril.” He walked over to the chest, hefting it. “I’ll get my sisters. Please, make sure she doesn’t come after us.”

“Come on,” Hawke said. “This place is starting to stink.”

—ROTC—

_Anders  
“Magic is a tool, same as a bow or sword. Would you cut off a child's hand to ensure he never wields one in anger?”_

_Anders has a rocky history with the Circle of Magi. Taken from his family when his talents first manifested, Anders was still a boy the first time he ran away from the Circle. Recaptured and returned dozens of times, Anders was still considered only a reckless scamp by First Enchanter Irving, who thought his easy temper and sense of humor made him no true threat. But during his final escape, Anders befriended the Warden Commander of Amaranthine and accepted an offer to become a Grey Warden._

_Life as a Warden changed him, introducing him to the free Fade spirit called Justice, who slowly convinced Anders to turn his attention beyond his personal suffering. Infused with Justice's fervor, Anders offered to merge with the spirit in the name of mage freedom, starting them both down a dangerous path that turned the purity of Justice into the unthinking hatred of Vengeance._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.


	5. Action in the Chantry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke recruits Anders and Isabela.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Lothering  
In ancient times, Lothering was little more than a trading post that served the fortress of Ostagar to the south. It grew larger, serving Redcliffe and the community of merchants and surface dwarves near Orzammar. Its location on the North Road gives it strategic value, so control of Lothering was historically a matter of contention between the Southern Bannorn and the South Reach Arling. King Calenhad himself stepped in and awarded the town to South Reach in the Exalted Age, which largely ended the feud, or at least the appearance of it. Lothering was one of the first major villages to be destroyed by the encroaching darkspawn horde during the Fifth Blight._

—ROTC—

They dropped Fenris back at his mansion in Hightown, Hawke, Carver, and Varric backtracking to the Chantry and finding Anders loitering outside. “I saw Karl go inside a few minutes ago,” the mage said without preamble. “No Templars so far. Are you ready?”

“I didn’t see anyone suspicious out here,” Hawke replied.

“But I did,” Aveline said from behind them. Hawke jumped, and Aveline crossed her arms, ignoring Anders, who looked like he was itching to run off. “What are you doing, Hawke?”

“Helping someone,” Hawke said. “What are you doing here?”

“Keeping you out of trouble.”

“Aveline, you got a lousy sense of timing,” Carver said. “You, here, in uniform, is _not a good thing_.”

Aveline ignored him as well. “Whatever you’re doing, I’m coming along.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Fine. Let’s do this fast. Anders, Aveline, soon to be guard captain. Aveline, Anders.”

“Charmed,” Aveline said dryly.

Anders still looked uneasy. “All right. I’ll handle the talking. You watch for Templars.”

The group entered the darkened Chantry, the only light coming from sconces along the walls and a handful of still-lit candles at the altar. “When we find Karl, just let me talk to him,” Anders said, sounding as if he was trying to reassure himself.

Hawke crept forward and up the stairs, looping around the giant statue of Andraste. “Where is he?” she hissed.

“He has to be around here someplace, there’s only one exit,” Varric muttered.

“There!” Anders pointed, indicating a man half-cloaked in shadow up ahead.

“Anders, I know you too well,” Karl said tonelessly. “I knew you would never give up.”

“What’s wrong?” Anders asked. “Why are you talking like…” he broke off as Karl turned around, his face catching the light and exposing his features. His grey hair was cropped short, a thick beard and mustache on his face. And a sunburst scar seared on his forehead.

“I was too rebellious, like you,” Karl continued. “The Templars knew I had to be…made an example of.”

Anders’ face fell. “No!”

“How else will mages ever master themselves?” Karl asked. “You’ll understand, Anders. As soon as the Templars teach you to control yourself.”

“He’s been made Tranquil, hasn’t he,” Hawke asked, an icy pit in her gut. “Anders?” The healer had turned, spotting several armed and armored Templars approaching them from behind with weapons drawn.

“This is the apostate,” Karl said.

“_No!_” Anders bellowed, his eyes flaring blue. He fell to his knees, shaking, and a moment later blue flames erupted from him, his voice booming unnaturally. “_You will never take another mage as you took him!_”

“Abomination!” One of the Templars shouted, a moment before Anders set him on fire. The man’s screams cut off as Varric’s crossbow bolt found a gap in his armor, and Hawke chained lightning as Carver dueled another Templar, downing a trio of the warriors with a single spell. More Templars erupted from a side room, and the group fell upon them, weapons flashing.

When the last Templar fell, the blue flames faded from Anders’ form, and Karl spoke again, his voice unsure. “I…Anders, what did you do? It’s like…you brought a piece of the Fade into this world. I had already forgotten what that feels like.” His voice was warm and caring now.

“I thought the Tranquil were cut off from the Fade forever,” Hawke said, nursing a bruised rib.

“When you’re Tranquil, you never think on your life before,” Karl replied. “But it’s like the Fade itself is inside Anders. Burning like a sun.” Hawke swallowed hard, before her jaw dropped as Karl continued talking. “Please, kill me before I forget again! I don’t know how you brought it back, but it’s fading.”

“Karl, _no_,” Anders said desperately, his eyes back to their normal shade.

“Can we find a cure?” Hawke asked. “There must be something we can do.”

“Can you cure a beheading?” Anders snapped. “The dreams of Tranquil mages are severed – there’s nothing left of them to fix.”

“I would rather die a mage than live as a Templar puppet,” Karl said fiercely.

“I would rather die than be Tranquil,” Hawke agreed. “Anders, I can’t make this decision for you, but…” She pulled a dagger from her belt, offering it to Anders.

Anders took it, his hands shaking. “I got here too late.” Tears were running down his face. “I’m sorry, Karl. I’m so sorry.” Touching Karl’s face gently, Anders stabbed him. The dead mage dropped, and Anders stood over the corpse for a long moment, before wiping his face with his free hand. “We should leave before more Templars come.”

“You see why I wanted to keep you out of this?” Hawke said to Aveline as they left the Chantry. The woman didn’t respond, merely staring ahead grimly.

When they made it back to Anders’ clinic, the mage sat on a cot in the back of the space, his face in his hands. “That wasn’t normal magic you did back there, was it?” Hawke asked.

Anders winced. “This is hard to explain. When I was in Amaranthine, I met a spirit of Justice who was trapped outside the Fade. We became friends, and he recognized the injustice that mages in Thedas face every day.”

“And that’s…different from a demon?” Hawke asked.

“Just as demons prey on the deadly sins of mankind, there are good spirits who embody our virtues,” Anders explained. “Spirits of compassion, fortitude, justice. They are the Maker’s first children, and they have all but given up on us.”

“This spirit sounds like a useful friend to have,” Hawke commented.

“He was far better to me than I have been to him,” Anders admitted. “To live outside the Fade, he needed a host. I offered to help him. We were going to work together, bring justice to every child ever ripped away from his mother to be sent to the Circle. But…I guess I had too much anger. Once he was inside me, he…changed.”

“So you have this spirit of justice living in your head?”

“It’s not like that,” Anders protested. “He’s gone now. He’s part of me. It’s not like we can…have a conversation. I feel his thoughts as my own. Not even the greatest scholar could tell you where I end and he begins.”

“This is obviously difficult for you to explain,” Hawke said gently.

“For him?” Carver asked. “We’ll be hunted for sure now.”

“No witnesses, nobody else knows,” Hawke replied.

“I thought I was helping my friend,” Anders said. “He would have…died, I guess. If that even means anything. And he wanted to help me. He knew what mages have suffered. But my anger…when I see Templars now, things that have always outraged me, but I could never do anything about, he comes out. And he is no longer my friend Justice. He is a force of vengeance. And he has no grasp of mercy.”

“Could Justice ever be separated from you?”

“I don’t think so,” Anders said. “The only way a spirit has ever been separated from a living host is by its death. The curse is of my own making. All I can do is hope to control it.”

“_Can _you control it?” Hawke asked.

“No. He comes only when I’ve lost all control over myself. It’s a madness, a frenzy. I only find out after what I might have done.”

Hawke nodded sympathetically. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You’re the first one I’ve ever told this. Thank you for not running away.” Reaching into a chest next to the cot, he retrieved a folded map. “My maps are yours. As am I, if you wish me to join your expedition. I thought I was done with the Grey Wardens, but if you have any need of me…I will be waiting here.”

“I can’t think of anyone I would need more on an expedition to the Deep Roads than a Grey Warden,” Hawke said. “Even one in your condition.”

Anders smiled faintly. “I had a friend like you once. Got in all kinds of trouble, dragged me along. Didn’t think I’d be doing that again. Sorry for putting all this on you.”

“You can tell me anything,” Hawke said. “I have a rule. Nothing can’t be talked about.”

“I just…I hope I didn’t seem too selfish when I told you about Justice. I didn’t know what would happen. I figured a willing host, a friend…it had to be better than playing the demon and haunting some corpse.”

“We can’t always predict the outcome of our actions. We can only make them with a true heart,” Hawke replied.

“Kind, wise, and beautiful,” Anders commented. “You must have a deal with some demons, yourself.” He faltered. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t presume. I just…we’ve hardly met and I feel like I know you.” Hawke forced a smile, and Anders frowned. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“A little,” Hawke admitted. “I don’t…really…erm…” She winced. “Men aren’t really my thing. Rarely, but not in general. I’m more of a lady’s lady, if you get my drift.”

Anders grinned, glancing down at his boots. “I’m sorry. I hear you, strictly professional.”

—ROTC—

“You Meeran?” Hawke asked not long after leaving Anders’ clinic. They were in the Hanged Man, stopping off for a drink before heading home.

Meeran looked up from his beer. “Who’s asking?”

“I almost worked for you a year ago.”

Meeran eyed her up. “As what, exactly?”

“Hired muscle,” Carver said coldly. “But that’s beside the point.”

“We have some information that might be of interest to you,” Hawke said. “Mind if we sit down?”

“I do, actually,” Meeran said, smirking. “What’s so important?”

“Red Iron’s a Kirkwall company, but from what I hear, someone else is moving in on your turf,” Hawke said. “You pay me, I make them go away.”

Meeran’s smirk fell off his face. “Who.”

“Flint Company, out of Starkhaven,” Hawke said. “Three groups around Kirkwall, apparently.”

“Red Iron takes care of our own business,” Meeran said. “Besides, you’re working for Athenril’s group, aren’t you?”

“We were, for a while,” Hawke said. “We’re free agents now. Varric?”

“Look, Meeran, you want this group out of your way, right?” Varric asked. “Why risk your boys on a fight with a group that’s not powerful enough to threaten you publicly anyway? Hire Hawke to do it, you send a message that won’t be missed – don’t mess with the Red Iron.”

Meeran’s eyes darted over to Hawke. “So _this _is Hawke, eh?” She nodded, and Meeran leaned back in his chair. “One sovereign per group of Flint. They die and you don’t, I pay.”

“Four sovereigns if we get all of them,” Hawke said flatly.

“I’ve seen them fight,” Varric added. “They’re worth every copper.”

Meeran stroked his chin. “Four sovereigns, but I want them dead by nightfall tomorrow.”

“Done,” Hawke said. “Be here tomorrow night, Meeran. Wouldn’t want to miss the good news, now would you?”

“Do you make a point of getting paid twice for one job?” Varric asked as they approached the bar.

“If more than one person is willing to pay me, then absolutely,” Hawke replied. “I’ll take whatever pay I can get. With the two payments from this job and all the loot we’ve sold, we’ll be halfway to what we need for the expedition.”

“And in just a few days, at that,” Varric said, impressed. They pulled up short as several armed men surrounded a lone dark-skinned woman drinking at the bar.

“You owe us, Isabela,” he said, leaning against the bar next to her. She raised an eyebrow, glancing sidelong to him.

“Well, Lucky,” she said, downing the alcohol in her cup and motioning for more. “I’ll tell you what. Since the information you gave me was worth nothing, that’s what I’ll pay you.” The bartender refilled her mug, and she made to lift it again, but Lucky slammed his hand down on the cup, pinning it down.

“Me and my boys will get our money’s worth, bitch!” Isabela raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, you poor sweet thing,” she cooed, reaching instead for his hand. Lucky gave a sharp cry as she shifted, smacking his head down on the bar and then shoving him away. One of his men caught hold of her, only to be knocked back as she slammed the back of her head into his face, before ducking as a third man took aim at her with a whisky bottle. The bottle shattered against the second man’s face, and Isabela slammed her knee into the third man’s gut and sent him sprawling. Lucky recovered enough to reach for his sword, only to find one of Isabela’s daggers at his throat in an instant. She gave him a smirk, her other hand at the hilt of her other dagger as his men groaned on the floor. “Tell me, Lucky,” she said smoothly, as if they were discussing the weather rather than attempting to murder each other. “Is this worth dying for?”

Hawke stood there, her mouth slightly open, as Lucky slowly backed up, carefully lowering his hand from his sword, and motioned for his men to leave. As quickly as it emerged, Isabela’s blade slid back into its sheath, and she tossed back her drink, smoothing her hair back under her bandanna. “I didn’t think so.”

Hawke’s boots crunched on the broken glass on the floor as she approached the bar. “Nice moves.”

“You’re new around here, aren’t you?” Isabela asked, motioning to the bartender for a refill. “Welcome, and keep your wits about you.” She leaned back from the bar as her cup was refilled, and she eyed Hawke. “You’re nothing but tits and ass to the men in this place, and they won’t hesitate to grab at both.”

Hawke returned the once-over, looking at the woman’s curves through the thin sailor’s smock she was wearing. “Speaking from experience, are we?”

She chuckled. “After a few broken fingers here and there, they got the idea.” There was a glint at her lip, and Hawke belatedly realized Isabela had a labret piercing, and a moment later realized she was staring at the woman’s mouth. “I’m Isabela,” she was saying, giving a small bow. “Previously ‘Captain’ Isabela. Sadly, without my ship, the title rings a bit hollow. You’re Fereldan, aren’t you?” Hawke nodded, trying not to stare too obviously. “You have that look about you. I was in Denerim not too long ago. I even met the Hero of Ferelden, if you know what I mean.”

“Did you now?” Hawke asked. “I think I might be related to him, distantly.”

“He has his skills,” Isabela replied. “You look like you can handle yourself, too.”

“Carver’s better in a fistfight,” Hawke said, jerking a thumb at her brother, “but neither one of us is a slouch.”

Isabela hummed. “You know, you might be just what I’m looking for to solve a little problem I have.”

“No animals, no children,” Hawke replied immediately. “Same rules I gave the last bloke who asked me for help with a ‘little problem.’ Can’t anyone fix their own lives around here?”

Isabela smirked. Hawke wasn’t sure if it made her want to slap Isabela or kiss her. “Must be something in the water. Someone from my past has been pestering me. I’ve arranged for a duel – if I win, he leaves me alone. But I don’t trust him to play fair. I need someone to watch my back.”

“Touchy ex-boyfriend?” Hawke asked.

Isabela laughed. “His name is Hayder. We worked together back in Antiva. He’s never liked me. He’s been asking about me all around Kirkwall. Thought I’d get it over with and meet him face-to-face. And if I win, he’ll be dead. Problem solved!”

“I think I can manage watching your back,” Hawke said.

Isabela smirked again, downing her drink. Hawke definitely wanted to kiss her. “I’ll bet.” Well, maybe slap her first. “I’ve arranged to meet Hayder in Hightown after dark, tomorrow night. I’ll meet you there.” She slid past Hawke, winking at Carver as she passed by.

“Take a breath, sister,” Carver said, rolling his eyes. “You’re practically drooling.”

“Did you see how she _moves_?” Hawke replied.

“You didn’t tell me you were related to the Hero of Ferelden,” Varric said accusingly. “That’s a story I would have liked to hear!”

“You buying?” Hawke asked.

A few minutes later, they were secluded in Varric’s room in the back of the tavern. “Our mother’s family name is Amell,” Hawke said.

“Used to be a noble family around these parts by that name,” Varric said.

“Exactly,” Hawke said. “Our mother’s cousin…Revka, I think, had five children. All five turned out to be mages. The eldest was Daylen Amell. Someone he wound up in Ferelden, I’m not sure how.”

“If his siblings were mages too, they would have split them up,” Varric supplied. “The Circles tend to do that. They probably picked a Circle and just transferred them out.”

“Well, either way, Revka vanished, my mother Leandra eloped, and the Amell family fell into disrepute,” Hawke went on. “But Daylen Amell is our…second cousin, I guess.”

“Interesting,” Varric commented. “How many darkspawn did you fight through to get here?”

“Too many,” Carver said darkly.

“Carver was at Ostagar,” Hawke added. “He was running the whole way back to Lothering, and then with us. Not many people could have made that trip and still been fit to fight.”

Carver shook his head. “If I’d been faster…”

Varric caught the dark look on Carver’s face. “You lost someone getting here?”

Hawke took a long pull on her beer in response. “Our sister, Bethany,” Carver finally said. “She was killed by an ogre.”

“You fought an ogre and survived?” Varric asked.

“She did,” Carver said, gesturing to Hawke. “Burnt it to death. Seared it down to the bone.”

“Now _that’s _a story,” Varric said. “What was going through your head?”

“Not a blasted thing,” Hawke replied. “I knew that whatever happened, I had to get the others to safety. But I wanted it _dead_.”

“Lots of people talk about nobility and selflessness, generally in the same stories that have magic beans,” Varric replied, taking a drink. “Somehow, Hawke, I imagine things won’t be dull with you around.” He wiped some froth from his lips. “Not that I expect the Deep Roads to be boring, mind you. Constant threat of doom does tend to keep you awake.”

“Plenty of threats here,” Hawke said. “Bethany would have hated it here. The Veil is in tatters. The city reeks of death. I can hear spirits and demons whispering if I listen hard enough.”

“She would be alive,” Carver said softly. “That would be something.”

Hawke grunted, looking over at Varric. “Let’s change the subject. What’s your story?”

“My family came from Orzammar – noble House Tethras – until my father got caught fixing Provings. He and our whole House got exiled. No huge loss. I was born up here. Sunshine suits me just fine.”

Hawke snorted. “They exiled the entire House for his crime?”

“They take their Provings very seriously,” Varric explained. “Fixing them is a time-honored tradition in Orzammar. Getting caught doing it, however, that’s a serious crime.”

“What exactly do you do, anyway?”

“Please,” Varric said with a sly smile.

“You’re not a merchant, and I’ve never heard of your name mentioned in mercenary or smuggler circles,” Hawke probed.

“I’m a younger son,” Varric explained. “It’s a very difficult and dangerous profession. A lot of us die of boredom. Fortunately, being Bartrand’s younger brother keeps me on my toes. Maker knows he lacks subtlety. I’m the one who pulls strings to keep the Coterie out of our hair – keep us just a whisker ahead of the other families.”

Hawke nodded. “Speaking of Bartrand, anything in particular we should know about him?”

“To understand Bartrand, you’ve got to understand the Dwarven Merchants Guild,” Varric said. “These are dwarves that would sell their mothers if they thought it’d get them a better share of the lyrium market. Anyone who deals with them has to sleep with a knife under their pillow. In my family, that’s Bartrand.”

“Well, he ought to be happy that we got the maps,” Hawke said, tapping the packet at her hip where Anders’ maps now sat. “Soon as we can raise the money, he’ll have himself some partners.”

“The thaig we’re looking for is supposed to be a week’s travel from the surface,” Varric said. “So I hope you’re not afraid of the dark. We’ve got supplies, muscle, excavators – the plan is to carry out everything that’s not nailed down.”

“Risky venture, but if it works, we’ll be set,” Carver said.

“I’ve spent my whole life in Kirkwall,” Varric replied. “Dangerous enough most days, but it doesn’t compare to the Deep Roads. So this will be…let’s just call it an adventure, I guess.”

“Speaking of adventures, we need to get on those groups of Flint Company,” Hawke said. “You coming?”

Varric slung Bianca across his back. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

—ROTC—

Carver kept pressure on the wound in his side as they staggered down the steps to the Darktown entrance Hawke remembered being near the foundry district. “Come on, come on,” she grunted, shifting his arm over her shoulders. “We should have brought Anders along.”

“At least we got them all,” Varric said, hoisting the sewer grate out of the way. “Get him down there!”

Luckily, the lamp was lit, and Anders looked up as they entered, blood trickling through Carver’s quilted armor as his legs slipped out from under him. “Oh, blast it,” the mage said, striding over and taking Carver’s other arm. “What happened?”

“Mercenaries,” Hawke said as they laid him out on the low table Anders kept in the middle of the clinic. “Why’s it matter? Can you help him?”

“Hold still,” Anders ordered, his hands flaring with blue light. “He’s lost some blood, he’ll need to rest.”

“We’ve still got work to do,” Hawke objected.

“Did I say it was a choice?” Anders asked irritably. “You should have come to me for help, I could have gotten him right back on his feet if I’d been there when he was wounded.” The glow faded, and Anders sagged a little, breathing hard. “He’ll be fine.”

Carver probed at his side, pulling the bloodstained and sticky cloth away from his side. “I…thank you, Anders.”

“Can you be spared from here?” Hawke asked.

“Hold still,” Anders repeated.

“I’m fine now,” Carver protested, sitting up. “I’ll be right back on my feet.” He stood, swaying, and then sat back down. “In two or three hours.”

“Here,” Anders thrust a waterskin into his hands. “Drink. It’s clean, don’t worry, I get it from a well in Lowtown. You need fluids.”

“Can you be spared from here?” Hawke repeated. “We’ve got more mercenaries to fight come daylight, and we could use another pair of hands.” 

—ROTC—

“I’ve always wondered,” Anders began as they left the clinic the next morning. “Why is every surface dwarf a merchant or a smith?”

Varric snorted. “You left out criminals and hired muscle.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “They don’t count.”

“We dwarves are drawn to shiny objects. Sort of like magpies, but with business sense.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Of course I am,” Varric said. “We come to the surface with the skills our ancestors had, Blondie. You think there’s a tradition of dwarf woodcutters in Orzammar? Bee keepers? Sailors?”

“Well, there could be mushroom growers and nug wranglers,” Anders offered.

Varric shook his head. “Orzammar will never let those people go topside. Too vital. Also, embarrassing.”

Athenril was waiting in Hightown outside the local brothel, the Blooming Rose. “Well? Are you here to socialize or did you bring my goods?”

Hawke’s lip curled. “I didn’t realize you were running children now. I rescued your boy and killed the Coterie, but your property was long gone.”

“Coterie,” Athenril groused, ignoring Hawke’s irritation. “I should have figured. They’ve got a lock all trade with the dwarves. If I’d had someone decent on the job, they’d have dug into it first, not walked in blindly.” She shrugged. “Well, no cargo, no coin. If you’re ever looking for more work, I keep my books right here. Feel free to sign yourself up.”

“Not a chance,” Hawke said. “Between your hiring practices and stiffing me, I’m not seeing a future for us, Athenril.”

Athenril rolled her eyes. “You’ll be back. I’ve got more tips for you.”

Far from prying eyes, the group of Flint Company mercenaries on the Wounded Coast fell quickly to a barrage of fireballs from Hawke and Anders, and Varric’s accurate fire from long range finished off the survivors before the group set to looting the bodies.

“There’s supposed to be some Dalish elves around here,” Hawke remarked as they followed the trail towards the Sundermount. “We need to pay them a visit, but I left the medallion…” she shook her head. “It’s a long story. We’ll have to come back.”

The last group of Flint Company was hardly worth mentioning, just a few ragged men less than a mile from where the Dalish were rumored to be encamped. When the last man fell, Fenris finally spoke. “Did I hear correctly? You are an... abomination?”

Anders scowled. “Why don't you shout? I don't think everyone heard you. In Nevarra.”

“Do you see yourself as harmless, then? An abomination who would never harm someone?”

Anders’ scowl intensified. “Like ripping someone's heart out of his chest?”

Fenris raised his chin. “I did that at the behest of no demon.”

“So we agree that it doesn't take a demon for someone to be a vicious killer? Good.”

Fenris paused. “Why was your friend made Tranquil? Do you know?”

“No, and it doesn't matter,” Ander said. “Nobody deserves that.”

Fenris’ face darkened. “I know some mages that deserve that.”

“Really?” Anders asked. “Perhaps they should start making slaves Tranquil—then they wouldn't dream of escaping! Wouldn't that be wonderful?”

“Slaves do not attract demons that try to possess them,” Fenris insisted.

“Which clearly justifies it? What a perfect solution!” Anders spat.

“Enough, you two,” Hawke said. “I’d rather not have you two at each other’s throats.”

Making their way back to the city took most of the rest of the afternoon, and the sun was setting by the time they reentered the Hanged Man. “Three groups of Flint Company, dead as agreed,” Hawke said. “Sundermount, Wounded Coast, and Kirkwall’s docks.”

“I have to say, I didn’t expect you to come through,” Meeran said, passing over the money. “Four sovereigns, as agreed. It’s a shame you didn’t work for me, Hawke, we could have done great things together.”

“If you have any work in the future, I might be interested,” Hawke replied, tucking away the coin. “Always looking for opportunities, you know.”

Hawke assembled her companions and trooped up to Hightown, meeting Isabela outside the Viscount’s Keep. “There you are,” Isabela said, eyeing the small crowd. “Wow, you don’t mess around when you think you’re heading for a fight, do you?”

“This is Fenris, Anders, and you already know Carver and Varric,” Hawke rattled off. “Everyone, this is Captain Isabela.”

“Do I know you from someplace?” Anders asked, staring at her curiously. “You look very familiar.”

Isabela squinted at him. “You're Fereldan, right? Ever spend time at the Pearl?”

Anders snapped his fingers. “That's it! You used to really like that girl with the griffon tattoos, right? What was her name?”

Isabela grinned. “The Lay Warden?”

Anders nodded. “That's right! I think you were there the night I—”

Isabela’s eyes widened in recognition. “Oh! Were you the runaway mage who could do that electricity thing? That was nice...”

Hawke broke in. “Please stop talking. Now.”

Varric glanced between the two of them. “I don't think I need to know this about either of you.”

“I’ve been here for hours,” Isabela said, steering the conversation back on track. “Hayder hasn’t shown up. No one has. I don’t like this.”

“I don’t like this?” Varric echoed. “That’s right up there with ‘what could possibly go wrong?’”

The sounds of boots thudding on stone echoed around the square, and Hawke turned, seeing three soldiers approaching. Isabela’s knives were already in her hands.

“That’s the wench we’re looking for,” the woman at their head announced. “Gut her.”

Isabela was on them before they even drew their weapons, kicking the leader’s feet out from under her and slashing her throat before she hit the ground. The second fell to Fenris’s greatsword in a matter of moments, and Varric casually finished off the third when he tried to run with a crossbow bolt to the back.

“Your friend Hayder?” Hawke asked, digging through the pockets of one of the corpses and retrieving a purse of coins. 

“He must have sent them, I don’t have _that _many enemies in this town,” Isabela replied.

“We need to move quickly,” Carver warned. “Aveline won’t be happy if the Guard hauls us in.”

The leader had the information they needed, written orders stuffed inside a hip pocket. “Hiding in the Chantry and sending thugs to finish me off? Coward.”

“Boy, that Chantry’s seeing a lot of action this week,” Hawke muttered, glancing at Anders. The healer’s face was set in a grim frown.

Despite the noise, no guards came running. Hightown was quiet. “No guards about,” Carver said. “Either someone’s paid them off, or taken them out.”

Isabela glanced back at Hawke as they crossed the courtyard in front of the chantry, the group moving as quietly as possible and expecting an ambush at any moment. Sure enough, more raiders were waiting, another motley bunch that fell quickly to six fighters working together. Fenris glared when Anders began flinging lightning bolts, but refrained from commenting.

“He must be inside,” Isabela said when they finished looting the bodies. “Defensible position.”

“If he had any brains, he’d have stationed archers on the steps, taken us down from range,” Carver remarked.

“Please don’t give the mercenaries ideas,” Hawke said as they ascended the steps.

The Chantry was darkened again, and despite the incident the night before, no Templars seemed to be about. Isabela led the way in, her daggers at the ready. “Isabela,” Hayder said, emerging from the shadows. “Should’ve known you’d find me here.”

“Tell your men to burn the letters next time,” Isabela said coldly.

“Castillion was heartbroken when he heard about the shipwreck,” Hayder said, ignoring her words. Hawke heard leather creaking and spotted more raiders entering the Chantry’s main hall. “You should have let him know you survived.”

Isabela shrugged casually. “It must have slipped my mind.”

Hayder laughed, and then his voice went hard. “Where’s the relic?”

“I lost it,” Isabela said. “Castillon’s just going to have to do without.”

Something dangerous flashed in Hayder’s eyes. “Lost it? Just like you ‘lost’ a ship full of valuable cargo?” he asked.

“They weren’t cargo, Hayder, they were people!” Isabela shot back, glaring at him now. Fenris glanced between the two of them, his eyes narrowing.

“Those slaves were worth a hundred sovereigns a head!” Hayder spat. “And you let them scurry off into the wilds! And now the relic’s gone too. Castillon won’t be happy to hear that.”

“Someone want to explain what’s going on?” Hawke interjected.

“Isabela’s been a very bad girl,” Hayder said. “Ruined a perfect business deal, and then ran away. She didn’t tell you?”

“I told her enough!” Isabela snapped. “I said I arranged for a duel, which I did. I also said you wouldn’t play fair, which you didn’t.” She looked to Hawke. “We can talk later, if you want. Right now we have other problems.”

“Castillon isn’t a very happy person, is he?” Hawke remarked. “Maybe he needs a new hobby?”

“There’s only one way to settle this,” Isabela said grimly, and Hayder nodded. One of Isabela’s daggers flew straight and true, killing Hayder’s lieutenant, and everyone moved at once. More raiders stormed from a side room, only to be greeted by Fenris and Anders, who had been standing in the back of the crowd. The conversation didn’t last long, and by the time they rejoined the fight Hawke had set most of the other raiders on fire and Carver was merrily hacking them to pieces while Isabela dueled Hayder. Isabela kicked him in the side of the knee, forcing the joint out of place, and Hayder gurgled as a bolt from Bianca caught him in the neck.

As quickly as the violence had started, it was over, and the others quickly set to looting the bodies as Isabela stood over her fallen opponent. “I was trying to talk him down,” Hawke said, wiping blood spray from her face.

“Trust me, it’s better this way,” Isabela said. “I didn’t realize you were a mage.”

“I don’t typically advertise that,” Hawke replied.

“A lot of that going about,” Fenris growled, glaring at Anders.

“Let’s get out of here before someone comes looking for all the noise,” Carver urged.

“Castillon won’t hear about me from Hayder, but he’ll find me eventually,” Isabela sighed as they headed down the steps from the chantry. “I just have to get him the relic. It’s simple as that.”

“Who is Castillon anyway?” Hawke asked.

“He’s a powerful merchant based in Antiva. I believe he has ties to the Felicisima Armada. I used to work for him. The jobs mostly involved smuggling lyrium, jewels, or the occasional criminal acquaintance. He paid well enough.”

“What’s this about you freeing slaves?” Hawke asked.

“I was asked to escort Castillon’s cargo ship. I got a bad feeling about the job partway through. Boarded the ship to find slaves. Nearly two hundred – elves, humans, children even. It was sickening. They paid Castillon to take them away from the Blight. He took their money and sold them into slavery. Even I can see that’s wrong.”

“What’s so interesting about this relic Hayder mentioned?”

“I don’t really know what it is,” Isabela admitted. “Except that it’s ancient and worth my weight in gold. Castillon has me chasing it down as payback for freeing his slaves. To be honest I think he just wants me dead. But that would be letting me off easy.”

“And you hired Lucky to find the relic,” Hawke realized, making the connection.

“He insisted he knew everything that was going on in Kirkwall. He lied. I bet he doesn’t even know everything going on in his pants.”

“And you wound up in Kirkwall because your ship was destroyed?” Hawke asked.

Isabela nodded somberly. “There was a storm. The ship ran aground on the reefs near the city. I…managed to make it shore. Most of my men weren’t as lucky. Poor sods. I knew some of those men almost ten years.” She sighed.

Hawke “If getting the relic gets Castillon off your back, then I’ll help you retrieve it.” Isabela stared a moment, then gave a soft laugh of disbelief.

“I still don’t know where it is, but you’ll be the first to know if I hear anything. Anyway,” she said simply. “Thanks for helping me out with Hayder. I think I’ll tag along for a while. There might be something I could do for you.” She leaned in slightly. “I have room at the Hanged Man if you’re looking for…company later,” she added. She drew back, leaving Hawke slightly agape, and stalked off into the night.

—ROTC—

_Bartrand Tethras  
"Half of Kirkwall wants to be my best friend right now."_

_The history of noble House Tethras stretches back to the foundation of Orzammar. The memories say that three times, a child of House Tethras took the office of Assembly Steward. They held appointments in the Shaperate of Memories and the Shaperate of Golems. But no longer._

_In the second year of the reign of King Endrin Aeducan, Lord Andvar Tethras was found guilty before the Assembly of willfully manipulating Proving matches in favor of his House. For this affront to the Ancestors, he and all his House were sentenced to exile on the surface. Andvar died a mere five years later, leaving behind his Lady Ilsa, ten-year-old Bartrand, and two-year-old Varric._

_Exile, surface life, and the loss of her husband conspired against Lady Ilsa, who took to drink, leaving young Bartrand to manage what was left of House Tethras._

_By the time he was fifteen, Bartrand had doubled his family's fortune. The disgrace of House Tethras fueled his ambition and his once-noble title gave him an instant place among the kalnas, the old money elite of the Dwarven Merchants Guild; he used it to build alliances and business ventures as if he were a member of the Orzammar Assembly._

_By the time Lady Ilsa died, Bartrand had made the Tethras family one of the Guild's most influential, but wealth and power on the surface couldn't sate him. He began to court alliances with the wealthiest ascendant families, branching into banking and mercenary companies. Guild members mutter that nothing will satisfy Bartrand but a complete reconstruction of House Tethras' estate in Orzammar--down to the rivers of lava--built in Kirkwall._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.


	6. Dockwork and Dalish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Giant spiders  
Giant spiders tend to appear in old ruins and other places where the Veil has become thin because of magical disturbances or a great number of deaths. In such places, spirits and demons pass into the world of the living and attempt to take control over living beings, spiders among them. Not all scholars accept this explanation for the presence of these beasts, however. Some claim that the thinning Veil allows magic to "leak" from the Fade, tainting such creatures as these spiders to transform into larger and more potent creatures than they ever would become naturally. While such spiders are known to possess powerful poisons and the ability to fling their webs at opponents in combat, studies of them have been few and the full range of their abilities are unknown._

_Corrupted spiders are giant arachnids that originally grew in the depths of the Deep Roads, feeding on numerous species of large bats. When the Deep Roads were lost to the darkspawn, they began to feed on the numerous genlocks and their numbers grew exponentially... as did their size. The darkspawn taint has become a permanent part of their system, passed on to their progeny. This has had the effect of increasing their size abnormally, as well as their aggressiveness. Some corrupted spiders have made their lairs in surface forests, but most remain underground, close to their Blight-tainted meals._

—ROTC—

“You really think we can handle something this big?” Carver asked as they crossed Hightown’s market.

“If the tip Athenril gave me is good, it’s worth a shot,” Hawke replied. “Wait, isn’t that the merchant…”

“You threatened to ‘shove a pole up his ass and sell him as a skewer in Lowtown,’ yes,” Varric said helpfully. “Hopefully he won’t hold that against you.”

“I heard you’re having trouble with the Bone Pit,” Hawke said. “I can help.”

Hubert, as Athenril’s tip said his name was, had the uniquely Orlesian characteristic of looking like he had just smelled something foul. “Finally someone comes to help me,” he said. “You look a bit unseasoned, but I hope you’ll do.” Hawke raised an eyebrow. “I had to suspend operations. My workers are lost in the mines or have run off. Serves me right for hiring Fereldan refugees. I sent others before, but no word. Perhaps they are putting me off? I need someone competent to figure out what is going on.”

Hubert hiring Fereldan refugees cemented Hawke’s intent to help. It could easily have been her or Carver or both of them in that mine. Those Fereldans had no options, but Hawke couldn’t afford to work for free.

“What’s the reward?” she said frankly.

“I will pay handsomely,” he said, drawing himself up. “The exact amount depends on the dangers you face.”

“Your first mistake was naming your mine the Bone Pit,” Hawke said frankly.

Hubert waved her off. “The locals named the mine. Those fools say it’s cursed. That’s why I hire Fereldans. They might be dull-witted but they’re not superstitious.”

“Mind what you say about my countrymen,” she said grimly.

“I was not referring to _you_, of course,” he said hastily. “My workers are a particularly desperate sort. They’re lucky to work for me! Few in Kirkwall will hire refugees.”

“Surely then,” she said, “the miners had good reason to leave.”

“I am at a loss,” he admitted. “No miner has reported in, and no one takes me seriously.”

“Well, the Bone Pit must be dangerous if people are afraid to venture there,” Hawke said frankly, crossing her arms.

“No, nothing like that,” Hubert scoffed. “Pay no heed to local superstition. The Bone Pit is mostly harmless.”

“You said some of your workers are Fereldans?” Hawke asked.

“Yes, all of them,” Hubert said, lowering his voice. “An unruly lot, to be sure.”

“We’ll head there soon,” Hawke said. “We’ll find out what happened to your workers.”

“The sooner the better. Each day that mine is not running costs me more than those miners make in a year,” Hubert said grimly.

“Any new offers on the Chanter’s board?” Hawke asked as they walked away. “Just in case this deal with the Bone Pit doesn’t pay well?”

“There’s a man looking for word about his missing wife,” Varric offered, gesturing with his block of a chin. “He’s a merchant. I think his stall is up that way. Also, Isabela’s got a business proposition for you, recovering some stolen cargo for a friend of hers.”

“Time for a drink!” Hawke said immediately. Carver rolled his eyes.

Once they were in the Hanged Man, Hawke went looking for Isabela, finding her at the bar. “Maker, I think he’s ignoring me now,” the pirate was saying. “Hey! Is my coin not good enough for you?”

“They want honest coin, not yours,” Hawke teased, sidling up beside her.

“Oh! Hawke!” Isabela smiled, and Hawke found herself returning it without even thinking. “Thanks for helping me with that little problem I had. You going to buy me a drink to celebrate our victory?”

“I don’t know if that’s wise,” Hawke said.

“Oh please,” Isabela rolled her eyes. “Fixating on what’s wise makes you forget what’s fun.”

“Speaking of fun, I heard you have a business proposition in mind.”

Isabela shrugged. “I have many propositions, but if you’re only interested in the business ones…”

“Business before pleasure, Isabela,” Hawke said. “Do you feel like sharing, or just letting us bask in your presence?”

Isabela looked thoughtful for a moment. “I'll allow you to bask. It's good for the skin.”

“Later, then,” Hawke sighed.

“Well, I have a friend who needs some help.”

“A friend of yours is a friend of mine,” Hawke said. “What can I do?”

“He didn’t say and I didn’t ask, but I’m sure you’re up to it. His name’s Martin. He has a room right here in the Hanged Man.”

They found Martin in one of the rooms furthest from the bar itself. Martin was a balding man with rough stubble on his face, and Hawke spotted a deep scar on his neck as he stood up. “Hey! Who are you?” The man’s voice sounded like a handful of gravel.

“My, you’re jumpy,” Isabela said, leaning against the door frame with a drink in her hand. “Look at you, cowering in the corner. What happened to the fearless, dashing raider I used to know?”

“I’m not a raider anymore, Isabela,” Martin growled. “I’m just an honest merchant now.”

Isabela snickered. “Please, Martin. You wouldn’t know honest if I tied you up and spanked you with it.”

“Can I volunteer for that?” Hawke asked.

“Later, sweet thing,” Isabela said quietly.

“Very funny, Isabela,” Martin snapped. “You said you could find me help. This is the best you could do, huh?”

Isabela’s eyes narrowed. “You want the help, or not?”

Martin sighed. “I need someone to help me find out where the raiders have hidden my stolen cargo. This job’s as easy as a peg-legged tavern wench, and there’s good coin in it to boot.”

“Now is that cargo you stole, or that was stolen from you?” Hawke asked.

“It’s just spices and herbs, nothing special,” Martin said. “But the raiders have some big plan for Kirkwall, or so I’ve heard. If they’re not a problem now, they will be soon. They closed in on my ship and forced her into the cliffs. My crew and I barely made it out alive. They must have salvaged the cargo when it washed ashore.”

“You think this might be something personal?” Hawke asked. “You used to be a raider, after all.”

“Yes, I was a raider,” Martin admitted. “Back then it was just smuggling and petty thievery. But it’s changed since that madman Ianto took power around here. Extortion, murder, kidnapping – he does it all. It’s just not to my taste. I tried to get out, but he didn’t like that.” He raised his chin. “This scar on my neck? He gave it to me. Slit my throat, and threw me overboard. I try to start a new life away from this bullshit, and he has his men chase me down and steal my cargo.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Hawke promised. “Where do I look for it?”

“You’ll need to look around the docks,” Martin explained. “The crates bear the seal of the Orlesian port authority, so you’ll know it when you see it. Whatever happens, I need that cargo back. I’ve had it with the raiders, and this cargo is the key to me getting on the straight and narrow.”

“We’ll get your cargo back, Martin,” Hawke said. “If it can be found, we’ll find it.”

“You’re doing me a huge favor here, friend. Thank you, and be careful.”

—ROTC—

They were down on the docks, Varric and Isabela chatting in the back of the group. Another tip from Athenril had led them to the warehouse district, where apparently there was a person to be smuggled. Looking for Martin’s cargo at the same time was simply an opportunity.

“I shit you not, Rivaini, it was this big,” Varric was saying.

Isabela shook her head. “There's no way. Impossible! I've had hundreds of those in my hands, and they're never that size.”

“Would I lie about something so critical?”

“I can't stand it anymore,” Anders broke in. “What _are_ you two talking about?” Aveline looked over, clearly curious.

“We're discussing knives, of course,” Varric said. “Well, daggers, technically. I never remember the difference.” He paused. “Why? What did you think we were talking about?”

A woman paused, glaring at Isabela. “I know your face. The boys in Orlais named an itch after you.”

“We’ll talk later, don’t you worry,” Isabela said to her.

Up ahead, the sounds of metal on metal rang out, and Hawke signaled her companions, finding a pack of dwarves fighting each other near the eastern warehouses. One side bore heavy armor Hawke didn’t recognize, but the others wore the quilted armor common among the Carta. “No witnesses!” One of the Carta dwarves barked, and Hawke drew her staff, cracking one of the Carta dwarves upside the head as he charged at her. Isabela dipped low as the dwarf flopped to the ground, dazed, and ended his life with an efficient stab and twist. Carver kicked another off the docks, and the dwarf sank like a stone, dragged down by his weapons and armor. Varric put a bolt through another dwarf’s armor, and the dwarf staggered back, clutching at the injury, just before Aveline sheared off his head.

“Lord Harrowmont, what do we do with the human?” one of the surviving dwarves asked as the last Carta fighter fell.

“Stand down. She’s not our foe,” the dwarf – Lord Harrowmont, apparently – ordered.

“What was all that about?” Hawke asked, keeping her staff ready in case these dwarves turned out to be hostile as well.

“Assassins,” Harrowmont spat. “The boat to Rivain is within sight, but the Carta would see me dead before I get there.” He looked over the group. “How would you like to make some coin?”

“Depends on who you are,” Hawke said. “I’ve never seen a dwarven lord.”

“You still haven’t,” Varric interjected. “If you’re looking at him in daylight, he’s not a lord anymore.”

“I’m Renvil Harrowmont, the last of my house,” the dwarf said. “My family was once revered in Orzammar. Now, I’m nothing but a surfacer on the run.”

“Not many people can piss off the Carta that much, that they’d attack with so many witnesses around,” Isabela said.

“My family was murdered one by one by King Bhelen after my uncle failed to claim the throne,” Harrowmont explained. “Bhelen’s reach is long, and his vengeance is a terrible thing to behold.”

“We can clear the way for you, Harrowmont,” Hawke said.

“Dispatch these ruffians and I’ll pay you what I can now. And by the ancestors, I will reward you proper when I am safe. What is your name?”

“Dana Hawke.”

“A good name,” Harrowmont pronounced. “I will remember it.”

“The Carta has several groups lying in wait for us,” one of Harrowmont’s guards said. “Take the battle to them.”

They found more Carta dwarves in the warehouse district, but the dwarves kept their weapons sheathed even as they spread out to avoid a rush. “Harrowmont spoke to you, didn’t he?” one of the dwarves said. “Whatever reward he offered, we’ll offer you more to kill him.”

Hawke’s lip curled, her staff in her hand. “How about I take care of you, instead?”

“Human _bastard_!” The dwarf barked, going for his knives. The weight on the end of Hawke’s staff smashed his teeth in, and at close range Isabela and Carver dominated the fight.

“Surprised you didn’t take the deal,” Isabela remarked after the last Carta dwarf fell in bloody heap. “You need the money, after all.”

“I don’t need it _that _badly,” Hawke replied. “I doubt the Carta would have paid up anyway, and it wouldn’t have been right.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Isabela said bluntly.

“We both know that’s not true,” Hawke said. “And even if it was, there will come a moment when you'll have the chance to do the right thing.”

Isabela grinned. “I love those moments. I like to wave at them as they pass by.”

They looted the bodies and tracked into the western warehouse district, where more Carta dwarves were harassing a pair of longshoremen. “By authority of the Kirkwall Guard, you’re under arrest for attempted murder,” Aveline said.

A minute or two later, Carver was wiping Carta blood from his greatsword. “Did you really expect them to surrender?”

“They had the option,” Aveline said stubbornly. “The rule of law must be upheld.”

“Sure,” Carver scoffed, looking at the traumatized longshoremen. “Sorry about the mess.”

“We’re looking for some cargo,” Hawke said. “Specifically, some crates sealed by the Orlesian port authority.”

“Haven’t seen any,” one of the dazed men said. “Sorry.”

“Talk to the harbor master,” the other suggested. “I’ll bet he’s got information about your cargo. He’s in his office.”

The last group of Carta thugs were waiting in the westmost section of the warehouse district, and Hawke signaled her companions. Hawke and Anders were still hesitant to use magic in public in daylight, but the six of them were able to handle the small crowd of dwarves even without magic.

“That looks like the last of them,” Hawke said as they finished looting the bodies. “Let’s head back to Harrowmont.”

Anders nudged Aveline as they backtracked. “Do you ever miss Ferelden?”

Aveline looked over at him in surprise. “Of course! It was home. I would never have left willingly. But I'm not going to be my father and spend my life trying to live a memory.”

“I didn't think I'd give it a second thought once I was gone. I mean, what did Ferelden ever do for me? But I do. I think about it. There's something here that just doesn't feel right.”

Aveline sighed. “You mean how mages are treated?”

Anders shook his head. “No... I think there's not enough dog shit.”

“You haven’t met my dog,” Hawke said. “I’ll introduce you to Ser Wagtail one of these days.”

“Cupcake, Ser Wagtail…doesn’t anyone name their dog something _normal_?” Anders muttered.

“Who’s Cupcake?” Aveline asked.

“Never mind.”

“Your path should be clear,” Hawke informed Harrowmont. “They tried to talk me into killing you. Be careful.”

“I wager you’ve a bright future ahead of you,” Harrowmont said, passing over a sack of coin. “Take this. More will come, as promised. May the Stone look after you.” As he departed, Hawke counted the money.

“Another two sovereigns closer,” Hawke said to Carver. “Come on, let’s see if we can find that cargo.”

The harbor master was a harried man who almost immediately passed their query off to his assistant Aden. “I apologize on Liam’s behalf,” Aden said. “He is a very, very busy man. I understand you’re looking for Orlesian cargo. I’ve seen the crates, but can’t remember where.” He gave them a wry smile. “Such a shame.”

“Get to the point,” Hawke sighed.

“The clink of gold coin often jogs my memory,” Aden said, his smile growing wider.

Hawke grimaced, passing over the two sovereigns’ worth of coin that Harrowmont had just given them. “Is this enough to help you remember?”

“Ah! It’s coming back to me. The cargo is in Alton Woodrow’s warehouse, by the dock. I’m glad we could help each other out.” He strode off, his pockets clinking.

“Weasel,” Hawke muttered as they departed.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Aveline promised.

They found the warehouse guarded by three men, one of whom immediately went inside at their leader’s direction. “This is private property,” the leader said.

“Who owns this warehouse?” Hawke asked, just in case there was a second warehouse in this part of the docks with stolen goods inside it.

“Master Woodrow, I suppose,” the guard said. “It’s rented storage space.”

“Let’s see what’s behind that door,” Aveline chimed in. “Authority of the city guard.”

“I’m afraid there’s no visitors allowed,” the guard leader said.

“You’re in my way,” Hawke sighed, drawing her staff.

“We’re under attack!” The leader warned, a moment before most of his teeth went skittering across the paving stones, courtesy of the weight on the end of Hawke’s staff. He collapsed in an unconscious heap, and Varric shot the other guard through the throat as Hawke checked the door to the warehouse. “Aveline, waiting out here. Make sure nobody comes up behind us.” She led the way into the warehouse.

There were more guards inside, obviously, even the thickest-headed of raiders would have left more than three guards on a single warehouse. Hawke restrained herself to lightning bolts to avoid burning the place down, Anders following her lead as they downed guard after guard, Isabela and Carver hacking apart the raiders as Varric put his back to the wall and provided ranged support.

“Anyone know what the Orlesian port authority seal looks like?” Hawke asked after they finished looting the bodies.

“Look for something gaudy and overly designed, that’ll be it for sure,” Carver said.

Hawke smiled. “You heard the man.” They quickly sorted through the cargo until Hawke found a symbol that looked absurd enough to be Orlesian. “Isabela, you recognize this?”

“You think I ever made a legitimate landing in Orlais?” Isabela asked. “That’s the seal, all right.” She flipped out one of her knives, slicing through the seal and opening the crate, finding vials full of dark, murky liquid inside.

“Oh, the Black Hand,” she said with eyes that sparkled a deep amber. “A blend of twenty-seven toxic plant essences, with a healthy dollop of cobra venom for that extra kick. That poison will kill a man in two breaths.” Isabela flashed her a grin. “Can I have it?”

“We promised Martin we’d find his cargo,” Hawke said. “Take three vials, if you really must. Just don’t use them on anyone I know.”

“Martin lied to us,” Carver said as Isabela pocketed a sample of the poison. “I should have expected this.”

Hawke nodded. “Only shocking part is that we believed him. Spices and herbs, indeed.”

They left the warehouse, and Hawke paused. “Aveline, there was an awful lot of stolen cargo in there. Your guards might be interested in it.”

Aveline’s eyes narrowed. “After you get Martin’s cargo out, right?” she asked acidly. “Right.”

—ROTC—

Martin was waiting for them in the Hanged Man, and he looked up from his drink as Hawke entered his room. “You’re smuggling poison,” Hawke said, stonefaced. “I thought you were trying to change your ways.”

“I got the stuff from a legitimate supplier,” He insisted. “And I’m going to sell it through legitimate channels. It’s all legitimate.”

“It’s poison,” Hawke said softly. “It kills people.”

“I just sell it,” Martin said stiffly. “I’m not responsible for what people do with it. Now where is it?”

“Alton Woodrow’s warehouse,” Hawke said. “Better move fast, the guard know that there’s plenty of stolen cargo there.”

“Maker,” Martin muttered. “Merchant Woodrow’s place? I know it. Thanks for this, friend. You’ve more than earned your reward.” He handed over a coinpurse. “I’m going to get my goods. You come back once I’m set up, I’ll give you a discount.”

—ROTC—

“This is a bad idea,” Carver groused as they passed a set of Dalish markings.

“No argument on that point, but wouldn’t ignoring a powerful witch’s wishes be a worse idea?” Hawke asked.

“We put it off for a year and a half, I doubt she’d care if we waited longer.”

“Carver,” Hawke sighed.

“Fine, fine,” her brother said. “Let’s go risk starting trouble with the Dalish. Because they’ll be _so _happy to see us.”

“What _are _you people talking about?” Anders asked.

“We have to deliver something to the Dalish for the Witch of the Wilds,” Hawke said bluntly.

Anders paused. “I wish that was the most shocking thing I’d ever heard.”

“You ever deal with the Dalish?” Hawke asked.

Anders nodded. “I knew a Dalish elf once. She attacked me with a tree.”

“Like…a branch?” Carver asked. “She attacked you with a branch?”

“No, an entire tree,” Anders clarified. “The _entire _tree. And wolves.”

“You’re going to share that story with me, right?” Varric asked.

Hopper snuffled, and Hawke scratched her hound behind the ears. “Good boy. Glad I brought you along, we’d never have found the Dalish without you.”

“Hold, _shemlen_!” An elf in green mail called, blocking their path alongside another elf. “Your kind are not welcome among the Dalish.”

“I was given an amulet for someone named Marethari,” Hawke said.

“How do you know that name?” The elf demanded.

“Met her in a bar once,” Isabela chimed in.

“Wait!” The other elven sentry said. “This is the one the Keeper spoke of.”

“A shemlen?” the first said incredulously. “I thought she’d be an elf.”

“Enter the camp.” The second elf stepped aside. “Keeper Marethari has been waiting for you.”

“Cause trouble, and you’ll meet our blades, stranger,” the first elf warned as he stepped out of the way.

“We won’t cause any trouble,” Hawke promised. “I’m just here to repay a debt.”

The Dalish landships were across the clearings, the large aravels with hitches for the halla that normally pulled them. But there were no halla, and the elves in the Dalish camp looked drawn and wary. Suspicious gazes followed them as they headed towards the central fire, where a woman in fur-trimmed robes stood, a gnarled staff across her back.

“Are you Marethari?” Hawke asked, fishing the amulet out of her pocket. “I was told to bring you this amulet.”

Marethari took the amulet, turning it over in her hands. “Andaran atish’an, travelers,” she said. “Indeed, I am Keeper Marethari. Let me look at you.” Hawke stood there as Marethari looked her over, trying not to fidget. “There’s truth in your face. A rare thing in a human.” She held up the amulet. “Tell me how this burden fell to you, child.”

“Exactly what have I been carrying around?” Hawke asked. “Is it magic?”

“It is a promise, child,” Marethari said gravely. “Made by one whose word still has weight. And therefore, it has terrible power. There are few things in this world stronger than a promise kept. Remember that.”

“This amulet’s owner rescued most of my family from the Blight,” Hawke explained. “In return, I agreed to bring it to you.”

Marethari nodded. “I honor you for coming to me, but I’m afraid your part in this is not done yet. The amulet must be taken to an altar at the top of this mountain, and given a Dalish rite for the departed. Then, return the amulet to me. DO this, and your debt will be repaid.”

“Are you going to teach me this rite for the departed?” Hawke asked. “Doing it wrong seems rather disrespectful.”

“I will send my First with you. She will see to it the ritual is done,” Marethari said, pausing. “And when it is complete, I must ask that you take her with you when you go.”

Hawke tilted her head. “Who is your First? First of what?”

“Your people would call her my apprentice or heir. Merrill would have taken my place as Keeper.”

“And you would send her away from the clan?” Hawke asked. “I didn’t realize Dalish ever left their clans.”

“Typically, they do not,” Marethari said uncomfortably. “But, she has chosen a new path. Please, guide her safely from here. It is her wish, and I must grant it.” She pointed at a trail that led up the slope. “You will find Merrill on the trail just up the mountain. Dareth shiral.”

“Dareth shiral,” Hawke repeated, stumbling over the pronunciation slightly. Marethari’s lips twitched upwards momentarily, and she nodded.

Around a bend in the trail, an elf was seated, bent over something glowing in her hand. Hawke felt something twitch in the Veil, and the elf turned, revealing the brightest green eyes Hawke had ever seen. Those eyes widened, and the elf hurriedly tucked away whatever was in her hand and rose from her seat on the side of the trail. The ubiquitous tattoos traced across her face, and her short black hair was drawn back in a handful of short braids. A bright green scarf wound around her neck, and she wore similar robes to Marethari, although lightweight mail clinked under the robes and clad her arms and legs. She smiled warmly, and Hawke relaxed marginally at the elf’s disarming attitude.

“Oh, I didn’t hear. You must be the one the Keeper told me about. Aneth ara,” she said, her brightness a deep shift from how suspicious the other Dalish had been. She paused a moment, and her eyes widened again. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t ask your name! Unless…it’s not rude to ask a human their name, is it?” Hawke shook her head. “I’m Merrill. Which you probably knew already. I’m rambling, sorry.”

“You seem awfully nervous,” Hawke remarked.

“I’ve haven’t met many humans before,” Merrill explained. “Dalish mothers frighten their children with stories about you, you know.” She paused, before going on hurriedly. “Not you, personally, of course. I’m sure they don’t have any tales about you. Or not scary ones, at least.” Hawke stared bemusedly, and Merrill went on. “Not that you’re not notable enough to have a story…I’ll just shut up now.”

“No, go on, you’re adorable,” Hawke blurted out. Varric chuckled, and Hawke shook herself. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. My name is Dana Hawke. Glad to make your acquaintance, Merrill.”

The elf brightened again. “Thank you. I’m afraid I’m not very experienced with your kind.”

“Well, don’t worry, I’m not very experienced with your kind either,” Hawke said gently. “I suppose we can learn from each other, yes?”

Merrill nodded, almost bouncing. “You sound Fereldan. I spent most of my life there. We only came north a few years ago. Have you been in the Free Marches long? Do you like it here?”

“I’ve lived in Kirkwall for a year now,” Hawke said. “It’s a good place to get a fresh start.”

“Really?” Merrill asked. “I hope you’re right.” Her happy demeanor slackened somewhat. “We should go. Your task is for Asha’bellanar. It’s not wise to make her wait.”

“Do you know the witch who sent us here?” Hawke asked warily.

“No, not personally,” Merrill said, starting up the path. “My people tell stories of her though.” She paused, looking back. “You’re very lucky. Most people who meet Asha’bellanar end up in little pieces…hanging from the trees.”

Hawke set off after her, her companions in tow. “Well, most of the darkspawn she killed were in little pieces when she was done. Maybe she had her fill?”

“You going to introduce us at any point?” Carver asked grumpily.

Hawke winced. “Sorry. Merrill, this is my brother, Carver Hawke. That’s Varric Tethras, Anders, Isabela, and my dog.”

“Oh, he's cute!” Merrill cried, scratching the dog behind the ears. “What's his name?”

“Ser Wagtail,” Hawke replied as they rounded a curve in the trail. “He goes by that, or Hopper.”

The Veil in Kirkwall was thinner than it had been in Lothering, but on the Sundermount it was barely present at all. Hawke could feel spirits pressing on it from the other side and paused, watching the shadows cast by the afternoon sun.

Carver noticed Hawke’s wariness. “See something?”

A fist erupted through the soil in front of them, nothing more than bone. Carver sheared it off with a low blow from his greatsword, and caught the emerging head of the animated corpse on the second swing. More corpses pulled themselves from the soil, and Varric downed one with a carefully aimed shot as Anders and Hawke opened up with fireballs.

A bony fist seized Hawke’s arm, and she turned, seeing a skeletal corpse reaching for her. A conjured stone caught the corpse in the midsection, ripping it away from her, and Hawke looked to see Merrill spinning her staff as the others tore apart the last of the animated corpses.

“The Keeper didn’t mention you were a mage,” Hawke said. “Not that I’m not grateful.”

“All Keepers know a bit of old magic,” Merrill replied. “The stories tell us that all elvhen once had the gift, but like so many things, it was lost. It’s a Keeper’s job to remember, to restore what we can.”

“You didn’t know?” Anders asked. “Keepers and their Firsts are always mages.”

“What do you know of the Dalish?” Merrill asked.

Anders paused, realizing he had made himself the object of the newcomer’s attention. “I, er…was a Grey Warden for a time. Two Wardens I fought alongside were Dalish elves.”

“I met a Warden once. Back in Ferelden. Duncan, I think his name was. Very odd man,” Merrill remarked. “He had a marvelous beard, though. I'd never seen one before. I thought a squirrel had grabbed him by the chin.”

“My old commander mentioned a Duncan once or twice,” Anders said. “Wonder if it’s the same fellow.”

“Erm, question,” Hawke interjected. “Do Templars not know about Dalish mages? They tend to frown on us apostates.”

“Oh, they know,” Merrill assured her. “Keeper Marethari told me that was one of the reasons we never camped too long in one place. They usually won’t pursue us if we stay away from the cities and towns and keep moving.”

“You don’t know how good you’ve got it,” Anders muttered.

“But my clan is now in more danger, having lost our halla.” Hawke realized she hadn’t missed the creatures – the clan had no halla to pull their aravels, and were stranded.

“If you go to Kirkwall, you’ll be an apostate in a city full of Templars,” Hawke pointed out.

“I know, but if I don’t go to Kirkwall, I’ll be alone,” Merrill said. “A solitary elf is easy prey for anyone. In the city, I can get lost in the crowd.”

“Hawke,” Varric asked quietly. “You’re not thinking of adopting another one, are you?”

“I’m taking her home with me,” Hawke declared.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Varric groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as they continued up the mountain. “Sure, why not.”

There was a noise from up higher on the path, and Hawke nearly lobbed another fireball before realizing it was only another Dalish elf stationed as a lookout. It was difficult to tell who he seemed less pleased to see – the group of outsiders, or Merrill.

“So the Keeper finally found someone to take you from here,” he said roughly.

“Yes,” Merrill replied, just as curt.

“Then finish your task quickly, human,” the lookout sneered. “We cannot be rid of this one too soon.”

“Seems the Dalish are one big happy family,” Carver remarked.

“I have made my choice,” Merrill said simply, “and I will save our clan whatever you think.” The lookout merely shouldered between them and strode away, leaving them standing there awkwardly.

“What’s going on here, Merrill?” Hawke asked gently.

“Nothing,” Merrill insisted. “Just ignorance. We should go.”

—ROTC—

_Varric Tethras  
“I know everyone in this city worth knowing.”_

_Varric was born three years after his father's exile from Orzammar, into the world of the Merchants Guild: the Ancestors never spoke and Paragons were the heroes in tall tales; the number of dances a kalna lady gave to a lowborn ascendant boy were more pivotal than the reign of kings._

_While Bartrand ran the businesses and drove House Tethras ever higher up the social ladder, Varric looked after the family and their retainers. His mother, Lady Ilsa, suffered terribly from the trauma of her disgrace and exile, finding solace in liquor and smoke. It fell to her younger son to try to curb the worst of her drunken rages, to keep her from becoming a matter of public scandal, and to care for her when she fell ill from her excesses._

_Though he is famous throughout the Merchants Guild for his stories, Varric speaks rarely of himself or his family. Most of Kirkwall knows him; everyone has bought him a drink at least once--for the sake of his fictions rather than his family connections._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.


	7. Mages and Templars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We continue on with the Dalish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Isabela  
“I'm Isabela. Previously 'Captain' Isabela. Sadly, without my ship, the title rings a bit hollow.”_

_Isabela is vague about her days as a sea captain, though it's obvious she was involved with piracy and smuggling. Shortly after the Blight ended, Isabela's ship was caught in a storm near the Wounded Coast. The vessel was destroyed, and Isabela feels lucky to have escaped with her life. Now she's stranded in the Free Marches, spending most of her time in the Hanged Man tavern._

_Isabela also reveals that she was born in Rivain, but spent many years in Antiva. When asked about those years, she changes the subject._

—ROTC—

The path ahead was blocked by a landslide, and Merrill led them to a cave entrance she said would lead them past it, before pausing. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “You’re not really seeing the Dalish at their best. We’re good people that look out for each other. Just…not today apparently.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Hawke offered.

“It’s kind of you to ask,” Merrill said, shaking her head. “I’m fine. Even if my people don’t appreciate my efforts, I must see this through.” She gestured into the cave. “Let’s go. Asha’Bellanar isn’t known for her patience.”

Hawke had been in few caves in her time, but the route around the landslide was about what she had expected – stalagmites, lichen, and giant spiders. Emerging from the other side of the cave pass splattered with arachnid ichor, they found the path flattened out a little, and Merrill paused before a glittering barrier that stretched across the path.

“I can open the way forward,” Merrill said before Hawke could ask. Hawke stepped back as Merrill approached the barrier, and the elf reached for her belt rather than her staff. She gave a sharp cry as she drew a knife across her palm, her spilt blood rising into the air and tearing into the barrier.

“That was a summoning,” Anders said, reaching for his staff. “That takes blood magic! Are you crazy?”

“Yes, it was blood magic, but I know what I’m doing,” Merrill insisted. “The spirit helped us, didn’t it?”

“All blood mages say that," Anders said darkly. "Just before they turn into abominations. You don’t deal with demons."

“Sure, demons are very helpful,” Hawke snarked, “right up until they take your mind and turn you into a monster.”

“Well…yes…” Merrill admitted, “but that won’t happen. I know how to defend myself.”

Hawke had never set foot in a Circle, but she had been trained by her father, a Circle mage who had managed to escape. He had taught her that demons were never to be dealt with, as their deals were never worth it and one slip could mean the end. Knowing how to defend oneself from demons did not make one immune to possession.

“Anyway, be careful up ahead,” Merrill continued. “Restless things prowl the heights.”

Past where the barrier had been, there were formations of stacked rocks that Merrill led them past without stopping. “In the days of Arlathan,” Merrill explained as Hawke ignored the whispering she could hear through the Veil, “the elders came here to sleep. Uthenera, the endless dream, they called it. But they don’t sleep peacefully anymore.”

Sure enough, more skeletons erupted beneath their feet, one seizing hold of Anders’ ankles and yanking the mage’s feet out from under him as it pulled itself up. Carver dragged Anders free and they quickly set to hacking the corpses apart. Hawke was busily beating one of the skeletons to pieces with her staff when a lightning bolt sizzled by, and Hawke turned to see another Arcane Horror giving them a rictus grin as it charged up another spell.

Then there was a crash, and the possessed corpse dropped like a puppet with cut strings. Hawke spun around, seeing Anders lowering his staff, looking sick. “I hate that spell,” he rasped. “If ever there was a mage-killer…”

“That’s a Dalish spell,” Merrill said, a touch accusingly. “How did you learn it?”

“The Dalish shared their magic with my old commander during the Blight,” Anders explained. “Dark times and all that.” Hawke looked at the demon he had killed so casually, and then back at Anders. “This is the first time I’ve ever used it,” Anders said hastily. “And if I have anything to say about it, it’ll be the last time.”

Hawke knelt, searching the horror’s pockets. Her jaw dropped as she found a bulging coinpurse. “Every little bit helps,” she muttered, tucking it away.

On a promontory overlooking the Dalish camp was the altar Marethari had told them about. It was a slab of grey stone, topped with an earthware pot that held a flickering greenish-blue flame. “Place the amulet on the altar,” Merrill instructed, and Hawke gently laid it out. Merrill stepped forward, and Hawke swallowed nervously as she spoke in the Elvhen tongue. “_Hahren na melana sahlin. Emma ir abelas souver'inan isala hamin vhenan him dor'felas. In uthenera na revas_.” There was a flash of light, and Hawke threw up a hand reflexively to shield her eyes as magic flooded the air, so heavy she could almost taste it.

When Hawke lowered her hand, her staff still clutched and half-raised, she saw Flemeth stepping down from the altar, wearing the same armor she had worn in the Wilds.

“Friend of yours?” Isabela asked calmly.

“You speak the word as if it is cheap coin, meant for spending,” Flemeth said.

“You don’t know me,” Isabela retorted.

“Oh, I know your type,” Flemeth said, before dismissing her with a glance.

Merrill bowed low. “_Andaran atish’an_, Asha’bellanar.”

Flemeth watched her a moment. “One of the People,” she said gently. “I see, so young and bright.” Her voice hardened. “Do you know who I am, beyond that title?”

Merrill didn’t look up. “I know only a little.”

“Then stand,” Flemeth coaxed. “The People bend their knee too quickly.” Merrill rose, and Flemeth turned her gaze on Hawke. “So refreshing to see someone who keeps their end of a bargain. I half expected my amulet to end up in a merchant’s pocket.”

“I’m a woman of my word,” Hawke said. “I agreed to deliver the amulet, though you could have told me you were inside it.”

“Just a piece,” Flemeth replied. “A small piece, but it was all I needed. A bit of security, should the inevitable occur. And if I know my Morrigan, it already has.”

“It has,” Anders broke in, wide-eyed. “You’re Flemeth, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question. “My old commander claimed to have killed you.”

“That would be the young Amell, wouldn’t it,” Flemeth said. “The young man may have even stood a chance. If he survived long enough to tell you, he must have come through after all.”

“What are you?” Anders asked. “A spirit? An abomination? This is no magic I’ve ever seen!”

“And you would know of spirits and abominations,” Flemeth said.

“I’m a mage,” Anders said evasively. “Of course I know of such things.”

“Of course,” Flemeth cooed. “I am a fly in the ointment. I am a whisper in the shadows. I am also an old, old woman. More than that, you need not know.”

Hawke raised a hand, deeply confused. “I’m sorry, I feel a few steps behind here. Who or what is Morrigan?”

“She’s a girl who thinks she knows what is what better than I, or anyone.” She laughed. “And why not? I raised her to be as she is. I cannot expect her to be less.”

Hawke tilted her head. “I’m not sure whether she’s your daughter or your enemy.”

The witch quirked another smile, her voice quiet now. “Neither is she.”

“What exactly did I accomplish by bringing you here?” Hawke asked.

Flemeth stepped closer. “Know only that you may have saved my life, just as I once saved yours. An even trade, I think.”

“You didn’t have me bring you here for sightseeing,” Hawke said. “You have plans, I take it?”

“Destiny awaits us both, dear girl. We have much to do.” She turned, looking out over the promontory and the Dalish camp. “Before I go, a word of advice? We stand upon the precipice of change, and the world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment, and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly.”

“What should I do?” Hawke asked, trying to sort through what sounded like pseudoprophetic nonsense.

“Do as I do,” Flemeth said bluntly. “Become a dragon!” She laughed at her own joke, before falling quiet. “You could never be a dragon. As for you, child,” she looked to Merrill, “step carefully. No path is darker than when your eyes are shut.”

“_Ma serranas, Asha’bellanar_,” Merrill murmured.

“Now the time has come for me to leave,” Flemeth said. “You have my thanks, and my sympathy.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” Hawke commented.

“Assurances are for the weak,” Flemeth replied, turning to look out over the promontory again. There was another flash of light, and the witch changed shape, becoming the dragon that had rescued them from the darkspawn in the Korcari Wilds. It spread its wings, kicking off from the ground and flying away.

“Yeah, I’m sure there’s no way this will come back to haunt us,” Carver said darkly.

“Let’s get out of here before more spirits come through the Veil,” Hawke replied. “All the magic that just got thrown around will just attract more. Whatever we just unleashed, there’s nothing we can do about it now.” She turned to leave.

“_Ma serranas_, child,” Marethari said when they reached the Dalish camp again. Merrill had split off, gathering a few personal belongings. “Your debt is paid in full.” She handed over a pouch, and Hawke felt the clink of coin inside. The Keeper turned to Merrill as the elf rejoined them. “It isn’t too late to change your mind, da’len.”

“_Dareth shiral_, Keeper,” Merrill said stubbornly, hoisting a pack onto her shoulders and nodding to Hawke. “I’m ready. Let’s depart.” Hawke didn’t miss the frown on both Marethari and Merrill’s faces as they left the camp.

“Where will you live?” Hawke asked as they descended the trails.

“The Alienage,” Merrill said shortly. “With the other elves.”

She didn’t say another word until they reached Kirkwall’s alienage. “Elgar’nan. Is this…is this really where the elves live?” In terms of poverty, the Kirkwall alienage hovered somewhere between dirt and destitution.

“If they’re lucky,” Carver said. “The less lucky live in Darktown.”

“If you think this is bad, you should see where I live,” Anders offered.

“I didn’t think it would be so…so…” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen so many people in one place before. It seems so lonely.”

“You already know me,” Hawke offered. “You’ll make other friends soon enough.”

Merrill smiled, and Hawke swallowed hard. “I…thank you. Thank you for everything. For all your help.” She paused, and Hawke could sense something else bubbling inside the elf. “Will you come visit me?” She blurted out. “Not now, of course. But maybe later? I could use a friend.”

“I’d like that, Merrill,” Hawke said before she could stop herself.

“Thank you,” Merrill repeated. “I’m thanking you too much, aren’t I? I mean it, though.”

Hawke turned and stopped cold as she saw a Templar standing in the middle of the Alienage, speaking to an elven woman wearing Dalish tattoos. “Madam, we’ll do our best to find your son, but I cannot guarantee his safety if he continues to resist Templar jurisdiction.”

“He’s just a boy!” The woman cried.

“He’s an apostate,” the Templar said flatly. “I’m sorry for your loss, but I can offer your son mercy only if he turns himself in.

“I’m trying to find him, but-”

“The Templars cannot tolerate apostates,” the Templar said.

“This will be Mother if we’re not careful,” Carver hissed.

The woman let out a quiet sob as the Templar departed. “It sounds like your son is in trouble,” Hawke said. “Is there anything I can do?”

“You heard all of that and still you would help? An apostate? Oh, thank you…” The woman led them to a tiny apartment in a corner of the square. “I am Arianni. My boy, Feynriel, he’s all I have, all my family. When I learned he had magic, I could not bear to send him to the Circle. But his connection to the Fade gives him nightmares, dreams of demons, speaking in his mind. I would rather lose him to the Circle than to himself.”

“Did your son run away?” Hawke asked.

“He learned I had contacted Ser Thrask. He felt I betrayed his trust. He thinks he can live free of the Circle, but I am afraid without proper training, he’ll kill himself.”

“Nightmares are common for mages,” Hawke explained. “Especially in Kirkwall.”

“How would you know?” Arianni asked. “Unless…”

Hawke let mana flow, the same cantrip she had used in front of Lirene flaring in her hand. “I don’t typically deal with Templars, but everyone deserves a chance.” She quenched the light glowing in her palm. “Those look like Dalish tattoos,” Hawke remarked, gesturing at her own face. “Why do you live in the city?”

“I was born to the Dalish, but came to Kirkwall for a time and…dallied with a human merchant, Vincento. When I found I was with child, neither Vincento nor my tribe wished the burden of an elf-blooded human infant. I raised Feynriel myself, here in the Alienage.”

“What exactly happened with your son?” Hawke asked.

“I learned years ago that my son likely had magical talent, but we could not bear the thought of him locked in the Gallows, so we hid. When the nightmares began, Feynriel still refused to contact the Circle. But I…I truly think they are the only people who might save his life.”

“What exactly do you need me to do?” Hawke pressed.

“Just find him, please,” Arianni asked desperately. “Bring him somewhere safe. I don’t know where Feynriel has gone, but there are two places you might start your search. Ser Thrask has been looking for him. If you speak to him in the Gallows, he’ll be able to tell you what ground he’s already covered. And Feynriel’s father Vincento recently returned from Antiva. He’s a merchant in the Lowtown bazaar. Feynriel might have sought him out.”

Hawke grimaced at the idea of talking to a Templar, especially now that she was linked to two other mages. “Tell me about this Templar.”

“I believe he’s a good man,” Arianni said, and Hawke bit her tongue. “He doesn’t hate mages, but sees what it took me too long to realize – even the best-intentioned mages are at the mercy of their sleeping minds.”

“So, they don’t always just make you disappear, like it seems?” Carver asked.

“There are other Templars who are much less sympathetic,” Arianni replied.

“And this Vincento?” Hawke asked. “Have you had any contact with him?”

“Vincento had no desire for a wife or an elf-blooded child. I haven’t seen him since the day I told him.”

“Some people just aren’t built for family life,” Isabela commented. “At least Feynriel has a mother who cares about him.”

“I have written, though, to keep him informed about his child. Feynriel wanted to meet him.”

“I will not leave you fearful for a moment longer than necessary,” Hawke promised.

“He ought to have his own life, out from the shackles of the Circle,” Merrill said. “Everyone should.”

“The boy sounds one breath away from becoming an abomination,” Carver added. “Let’s get to him, fast.”

“Thank you,” Arianni said. “It has been a lonely time, hiding. It’s almost a relief to finally confront this openly.”

They found Vincento easily enough, an Antivan merchant who almost certainly was running smuggled goods, or he would be selling in Hightown. “Greetings, my lady,” he said as Hawke approached to proper bartering distance. “You look like a woman who’d appreciate the finest rubies from Antiva gracing her lovely neck. I bring only the best northern merchandise to the Free Marches.”

“Actually,” Hawke said softly, “we’re more interested in your son.” For a veteran salesman, the man hid his emotions remarkably poorly, as a quick flash of fear went through his eyes and his lips pursed momentarily.

“My lady!” he said smoothly. “I am a bachelor! I’ve never met a woman of sufficient beauty and charm to tie Vincento down!” He chuckled, and Hawke remained stonefaced. “Let us not ruin the day with such weighty thoughts.” Vincento said. “Perhaps I could show you my silks?”

“Vincento, you can help your son or you can ignore him as you always have, but…” She ignited another cantrip, just long enough to catch Vincento’s attention. “We’re not Templars, serah. Feynriel has nothing to fear from us.”

“_Maldicion_! You are a mage?” he said softly, “I suppose…you would be kind then to a boy who resists being taken in by the Templars?”

“To an elf-blooded child, abandoned by his human father?” Merrill said. “Of course we would.”

Vincento shook his head, voice dropping lower. “The boy is in over his head,” he said softly. “So I sent him to the only man I know who doesn’t despise mages. A former Templar named Samson.”

“Why would a Templar help him?” Hawke asked.

“His conscience plagues him, having served the Templars too long,” Vincento explained. “He now helps mages on the run. He stays out of sight during the day. At night, he stays near Darktown. That’s the best place to find him.”

“An ex-Templar,” Anders said. “He’ll need a lyrium fix.” At Merrill’s questioning look, Anders sighed. “Templars take lyrium. The official story is it helps boost their powers so they can fight mages, but I’ve seen fighters who never took a single drop of lyrium smother magic. But the Templars are addicts. They need lyrium.”

“And there’s a nicely profitable trade in smuggling it,” Hawke added. “One of the main reasons Athenril’s group managed to avoid getting wiped out by the Coterie is they never touched the lyrium trade. Too risky.”

“So, I guess I’ll meet you at the Hanged Man tonight?” Anders asked.

Hawke nodded. “Varric, can you see Merrill home?”

“Sure thing,” the dwarf replied. “What about you and Junior?”

“I’m headed to the Chantry,” Hawke said softly. “Need to see a man about a murder.”

—ROTC—

Hawke swallowed hard, looking at the giant statue of Andraste. Carver was speaking to a Chantry sister, looking for the man who had posted the bounty on Flint Company. She bowed her head, folding her hands and offering a prayer. But not to the Maker.

“Bethany, if you can hear me out there…I truly am sorry. I let you down, sister. I should have been faster, should have been stronger. We’ve got a chance, and if it works out, we can actually build something, but…” she swallowed hard, her eyes burning. She _would not cry_. Bethany wouldn’t want her to cry. “You should be here, Bethany. If it doesn’t work out…” She closed her eyes. “It’ll work out. Put in a good word for us all, will you? I’ll look after Carver. Just say hello to Father for us all.”

“Excuse me, my child.” Hawke flinched, turning about to see an elderly woman in the robes of a Grand Cleric. The woman wore her hair gray in a matronly bun, but her eyes were sharp. “I am Elthina, Grand Cleric of Kirkwall. You…have a familiar look to you,” the woman said softly, “and yet I have not seen you here before, I think.”

“I have only just arrived from Ferelden,” Hawke replied evasively. “Refugees, you know how it is.” She deeply doubted it.

“I understand,” Elthina said. “It was a near thing, what happened in Ferelden. But in the end, the Maker stepped in.”

Hawke gritted her teeth. If the Maker had ever cared, He had turned away from them long ago. And if the Maker was still watching, Hawke had turned her back on Him the minute her sister died. “Funny, I thought it was the Grey Wardens who stepped in,” she finally bit out. “Not the Maker.”

“Sometimes, the Maker chooses the most unlikely vessels,” Elthina countered. “We never know those He may favor.”

Hawke rubbed her chin. “If the Maker had favored us a bit more, perhaps my entire family would have made it to Kirkwall. Please excuse me.”

Elthina nodded and stepped back. “Maker watch over you.”

“I’m not his type,” Hawke muttered as she strode across the Chantry, waving to Carver as she spotted a man in gleaming white armor descending the steps. “You Sebastian Vael?”

The man nodded. “Aye. Is there something I can do for you?”

“You wanted Flint Company dead,” Hawke said. “I take no pleasure in killing, but your family can rest now. They have been avenged.”

“Excuse me, who are…?” The man paused, then his eyes widened in surprise. “My post to the Chanter’s Board?” he asked. “Did Her Grace let that stay? I thought for sure no one even read – but you say you’ve…killed them?”

Hawke nodded. “All three groups. One of them had this,” she held out a locket she had ripped from the corpse of one of the mercenaries near the Dalish encampment. “I thought it might have belonged to your family.”

“This…was my mother’s,” Sebastian said, examining the locket. “You have my eternal gratitude, serah. It is comforting to think my parents might now rest easily in their graves.”

“Who sent these mercenaries?” Hawke asked.

Sebastian sighed. “My family has ruled Starkhaven for six generations. We have enemies, but none who would identify themselves openly. A distant cousin of mine is claiming rulership now, but he is…a bit simple. He can be no more than a pawn in this plot.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Surely you have a guess as to who was behind it.” If they had made one attempt to end the family line, they almost certainly would make another once they figured out their mercenaries had missed a Vael.

“My parents were always…prudent…in how they handled our nobles. They did not allow rivalries or resentments to flourish. The attack must have come from outside,” Sebastian said shortly. “Kirkwall is our largest trading partner. I came back here to find support for my claim, and perhaps for a clue as to who is behind this foul deed.”

“I hope you can find some peace now that your family’s killers are dead,” Hawke said softly.

“Thank you,” Sebastian said. “More than I can say. I truly did not expect anyone but me to take up this cause.”

“Going up against those mercenaries alone would have been suicide,” Carver replied. “You would have done their job for them.”

“Which is why I sought help, even if I did not expect any to come,” Sebastian finished, holding out a coinpurse. “Consider this an advance. When I have secured my lands again, you will be paid royally. Maker’s blessings upon you…” He paused. “My apologies. I never caught your name.”

“Hawke,” she said. “Dana Hawke. This is my brother, Carver.”

“A strong name,” Sebastian said. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I must make a meeting with the Viscount and petition him for aid to a fellow city.”

“He seems decent enough,” Carver muttered as they left the Chantry.

“He’s a prince _and _a Chantry brother?” Hawke said. “Wasn’t aware you could be both.” She rolled her shoulders. “Either way, just being around there makes me uneasy.”

“With the amount of trouble that building has seen in the past week, I’m surprised there weren’t more Templars around,” Carver remarked.

“Any time there are fewer Templars than there should be, I’m happy.”

“You sound like Anders,” Carver snorted. “Come on. Let’s stash this with the rest.”

“We’re almost there,” Hawke said, more to herself than her brother. “Just another fifteen sovereigns or so.”

“Fifteen sovereigns is still a way off from fifty,” Carver pointed out.

“But it’s a lot closer than we were a few days ago,” Hawke shot back. “Take the victories where you can get them, Carver.”

—ROTC—

Hawke laid down her cards. “Show me what you got, Isabela.”

“Oh, sweet thing,” Isabela cooed, laying down her own cards. “You lose again.”

Hawke snorted, spacing out two of her cards. “Look again.”

Isabela blinked. “How’d you do that?”

“Same way you’ve been winning for the past hour,” Hawke said, taking a pull on her drink. “I cheated.”

Isabela pouted. “It’s no fun if you just come out and _say it_, you know.” Merrill giggled, and Isabela began shuffling the cards again.

A woman approached their table, her features barely visible in the dim light under the cowl she wore. “The Fereldan, eh?” The woman asked without preamble. “Athenril said you might help me.”

“Athenril’s been talking to a lot more people about me than I would like,” Hawke sighed. “What’s it to you?”

“Some raider captains are having secret meetings at night by the docks,” the woman replied. “The job’s simple: break up the meeting and kill every one of the bastards.”

“That’s not much to go on,” Hawke said, swirling her drink in her mug.

“It’s enough to do the job. If you manage to eavesdrop on the meeting before you kill them, there’ll be extra in it for you.” She dropped a letter on the table. “The details. I’ll be here.”

Hawke flipped open the letter, reading it quickly. “Well, worth a look, if nothing else.” She glanced out the grimy window at the darkened sky as Anders entered the pub. “Let’s check it out.”

They found the meeting place easily enough, and Hawke signaled to the others to wait, creeping forward in the darkness. Two men, presumably the ship captains, were talking with a third man wearing finery and an ill-fitting cowl. “I lost two of my men for damned _wheat_!” One of the ship captains spat.

“If it flies Amaranthine colors, you sink her,” the third man said indifferently.

“Careful, lickspittle,” the second captain snapped. “My men and I aren’t accustomed to taking orders.”

“The viscount’s pardon comes with strings,” the third man, apparently a Kirkwall official, said. “If Amaranthine is left unchecked, they will rule the Waking Sea.”

“Piss on that,” the first captain groaned. “What do I care?”

“A dozen war galleys hunting your kind to extinction says you’ll care,” the official said.

Hawke drew her staff, signaling her companions and lobbing lightning bolts into the assembled men. The fight was over in moments, and Hawke helped Carver throw the bodies off the docks and into the water. “Amaranthine was good to me,” Anders said quietly. “It feels good to know I’m helping them out a bit in return this way.”

“Do you miss it?” Merrill asked Carver as they ascended the stairs from the docks, looking for the ex-Templar Vincento had mentioned. “Ferelden, I mean.”

Carver shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Blackberries. They don't seem to grow here. And there were little song birds with black caps on their heads.”

Carver smiled faintly. “I sort of miss the dogs barking.”

Merrill nodded. “Yes... It's been mostly humans barking at me here. Not nearly as cute.”

“I’m looking for a man named Samson,” Hawke said suddenly, stopping in front of a stranger half-hidden in the dark.

The man gave a dry, raspy chuckle. “Ol’ Vincento said someone might come sniffing around. You’re looking for the boy, right? Feyn-something?” He turned and the moonlight caught his face, revealing sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. “I’ll tell you now, there’s not much I can do for you.”

“You’re a retired Templar?” Hawke asked, trying to refrain from reaching for her staff. Next to her, Hopper didn’t growl, but his hackles rose slightly.

“Huh. ‘Retired.’ Sounds better than ‘burned-out husk of a Templar begging for coins in the chokedamp,’ doesn’t it,” Samson said. “They don’t do anything to keep you, you know? You join the Order, you’re free to walk away. But they’re the only ones who got the dust…”

“The dust?” Hawke asked.

“Lyrium,” Samson said. “An ore the dwarves mine. Magic in its raw form.” Anders looked like he wanted to say something, but kept silent. You need to drink the stuff to face down the magickers. Problem is, if you ever stop, it just about kills you.”

Anders fished around in a belt pouch, holding out a vial that glowed faintly blue. “We’re a bit short on time. Is it true you give aid to apostates fleeing the Templars?”

“The mages I help, they’re no more than children, newly discovered their magic and terrified,” Samson explained, his eyes locked on the vial of dust in Anders’ hand. “Barely left their mothers’ skirts, and now we’re saying they got to be locked away for their own good. That demons are hunting them. Do you wonder they run?”

“Did you meet the boy?” Hawke asked.

“Afraid so,” Samson said. “Blighter was dead broke, though, not a silver on him. I help one mageling for free and I’ll never get paid again.”

“I pity any mage who is forced to rely on you for protection,” Anders spat, the vial in his hand suddenly vanishing with a flick of his wrist.

Samson’s jaw hardened, but he looked to Hawke, shaking his head. “I pointed him to a ship captain I know, Reiner. Sometimes he’ll take on runaways. Took another apostate last week – a girl I sent him. Might have gone wrong, though. I heard rumors he took the both of them captive instead.”

“Please tell me it’s not too late to save him,” Hawke said softly.

“Rumor has it Reiner has the pair of them locked in a quays warehouse. Close to dockside. You want to go looking, you might find the lad before he gets ransomed to the Templars. Or worse.”

“How’d you know it was him?” Isabela asked as they hooked around toward the docks.

“I could feel the lyrium in him,” Hawke explained. “He must have had a fix recently.”

Finding the warehouse took only a few minutes with Varric’s knowledge of Kirkwall’s underbelly, and Isabela made short work of the lock.

The warehouse was full of sailors, none of whom were amused to see Hawke and her companions entering. Things immediately dissolved into a fight, and with three mages on their side, they quickly cleared the main room of the warehouse. “The office,” Anders said, leaning on his staff. “Come on!”

“Get a hold of her! Get the hands. I heard they can’t do no spells without hands.”

“Please! Help me! Anyone!” A woman. No. A mage. The second mage Samson had mentioned. The woman fell to her knees, trembling as Hawke gritted her teeth.

And then the woman burst into flames. Something in her rippled outward, a blast of dangerous magic, and she warped in an instant, her final scream deepening into a reverberating laugh. “Abomination!” One of the men screamed, moments before he was torn apart.

“You idiots!” their leader, presumably Reiner, shouted. “Kill them all!”

“Hopper, get him!” Hawke ordered. The dog let out a single bark and leapt, tackling Reiner and ripping out his throat with a single tearing bite. Hawke hit the abomination with a lightning bolt, Merrill following up with a lump of conjured stone as the others engaged the remaining sailors-turned-slavers.

When the last man fell, Hawke knelt over the abomination’s corpse, ignoring the stench of burnt lyrium. She found a half-burnt letter in the corpse’s pocket, smoothing it out on the floor. “Ser Thrask, I know the sacrifices you've made to conceal my secret, but I am a child no longer. I cannot burden you my whole life, lest my secret destroy us both. I must live my own life as a woman... and as a mage. It is oddly freeing to write the word. Farewell, Father. I hope one day you make peace between what you have been taught and what you have seen. All my love, Olivia.” She closed her eyes. “Olivia. Thrask should know he just lost his own daughter to this mess.” She kicked Reiner’s corpse in the head. “Was it worth it, you son of a bitch? Was her life worth it?”

“Hawke,” Varric said gently. “Feynriel isn’t here. We still have a chance to save him.”

“Isabela, Merrill, loot the bodies,” Hawke ordered. “Carver, Anders, spread out, keep an eye out in case anyone heard that fight. Varric, come with me.” They tore into the documents and accounts in the office, looking for anything that could lead them to Feynriel. “Varric, I got something,” Hawke said, looking up from the accounts. “They sold a male human mage to someone named Danzig in the Undercity.”

“Darktown at night,” Varric commented. “You take me to the loveliest places, Hawke.”

“Go get Fenris,” Hawke said, her face stormy. “We’re going slaver hunting.”

—ROTC—

_Kirkwall - The Elven Alienage  
Lowtown is home to a squalid elven alienage. Here, like in most Thedas alienages, elves are packed into tiny rundown apartments and effectively segregated from the human population._

_Kirkwall's alienage is even more dilapidated than the rest of Lowtown, but the elves go to great lengths keeping the place looking bright and festive. The vhenadahl ("Tree of the People") standing in the middle of the alienage is a symbol for elven pride and shared cultural identity, and it is lovingly cared for._

_It's difficult to say if the elves would continue confining themselves to the alienage if they were given the chance to mingle. They may not admit it, but some feel that living among their kind is far better than living with humans, no matter how terrible alienage life may be.  
—From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.


	8. Odd Jobs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and company get into some more trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A happy New Year to all of you. Here's hoping 2020 sucks less than 2019 did.
> 
> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Merrill  
"The stories tell us that all elvhen once had the gift; but like so many things, it was lost. It's a Keeper's job to remember, to restore what we can."_

_As each generation passes, magic becomes more rare among the Dalish. As the gift dies out, talented children are moved between clans so that every Keeper has a successor, and no clan is in danger of being left without guidance._

_Merrill was born to the Alerion clan, which wandered the hills of Nevarra. She was the third child of the clan with the ancient gift born to her--when the next Arlathvenn (gathering of the clans) occurred, she was given to the Sabrae clan to be First to Keeper Marethari. Merrill was just four years old._

_She spent most of her life in Ferelden and the Korcari Wilds until her clan was driven north by the Blight._

—ROTC—

“I’m touched that you thought of me for this,” Fenris said as they picked their way through Darktown.

“We’re giving some slavers a hard time, I knew you would be up for that,” Hawke replied.

“Rescuing slaves is always a worthy endeavor,” Fenris said, before looking to Varric. “I thought all dwarves had beards. Where’s yours?”

Varric gave a snort, shaking his head. “I misplaced it,” he said, “Along with my sense of dwarven pride and my gold-plated noble caste pin.”

“I thought maybe it fell onto your chest,” Fenris deadpanned.

Varric chuckled. “Oh, ho! The broody elf tells a joke!”

“I don’t brood,” Fenris insisted, crossing his arms. Varric gave him a wry look.

“Friend, if your brooding were any more impressive, women would swoon as you passed. They’d have broody babies in your honor.”

“You’re a very odd dwarf,” Fenris muttered.

“And you thought I was joking about the pin,” Varric replied.

“Slaver’s name is Danzig,” Hawke interjected, trying to bring the conversation back on track. “We don’t know whether he’s still got Feynriel or if he’s already sold him, but it’s the best lead we’ve got.”

The minute they were in sight, the man in the front of the group, presumably Danzig, began to speak. "Why, look here, boys. Volunteers! Clap 'em in irons and let's see what the Tevinters will pay for them."

“Talk about lazy,” Hawke said. “You are Danzig, correct?”

“What’s it to you?” Danzig asked suspiciously.

“Fenris, would you be so kind as to shake some answers out of him?” Hawke asked.

“I can do that,” Fenris said happily, stepping forward and flaring blue. He rammed his fist into Danzig’s chest, and there was an obscene crunching noise as Fenris rooted around for a few moments, before pulling his hand back, holding a bloody rib bone as Danzig collapsed. “Don’t worry, you didn’t need that anyway,” the elf said, crouching in front of Danzig. “The next thing I pull out of you will be something far more necessary.”

“Andraste’s great flaming ass,” Danzig gasped. “How did you do that?”

“You have to the count of one to tell me where Feynriel is before I start pulling you apart, piece by piece,” Fenris growled.

“I’ve stashed the boy in a cave. A smuggler hideout on the Wounded Coast. Tevinters will be by to finish the deal today,” Danzig blurted out. “Please, just let me live!”

Fenris didn’t wait for Hawke to answer, plunging his hand back into Danzig’s chest and twisting something that made a gout of blood spew from the slaver’s mouth. His sword was in his other hand almost instantly, and he tore into the remaining slavers as Hawke and the others joined the fight.

“Loot the bastards, but make it fast,” Hawke said when it was over, wiping a splatter of blood from her face. “We’ve been too late twice now. Third time lucky.”

Tracking out to the bolt-hole on the Wounded Coast by way of a blood-spattered map Hawke had pulled off Danzig’s corpse took hours, but they found the cave entrance unguarded. “I guess this place’s anonymity is its best defense,” Hawke said. “Come on.”

The first group of slavers was easy – not one was a mage and none of them had expected attackers. Fenris and Carver were on them in seconds, their greatswords shearing through the cheap armor the slavers wore easily. Hawke felt almost unnecessary as she donated a lightning bolt or a carefully aimed fireball to the fray, Varric’s arrows and Isabela’s pinpoint strikes dropping the slavers where they stood as Anders and Merrill aimed for the archers deeper in the mine.

“I’d say we’ve lost the element of surprise,” Hawke said as the last slaver fell. “Come on, there better not be another exit to this place.”

They cut down a narrow tunnel deeper into the mine, and Hawke pulled up sharply and skidded to a halt as a voice called out from above. “Take one more step and the boy dies,” a slaver called, his sword to the throat of a young man.

Hawke took in the situation quickly. The boy was undoubtedly Feynriel. A blond boy who appeared essentially human, but had the thin features and build of an elven parent. He was on his knees next to one of the raiders, his hands tied together in front of him and his full attention on the blade at his throat.

“Feynriel, I assume,” Hawke said. The boy nodded. “Good. It’s going to be all right. Varric? Tell this dirtbag who are.”

Varric bullshitted effortlessly and without pausing. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be threatening the Viscount’s son.”

The slaver blinked in surprise, his sword dropping an inch away from the boy’s throat. “What?”

“Oh, I suppose you just got a tip from a slaver that he was selling mage-flesh cheap,” Varric said. “You never thought to ask where he got it? You never wondered if you were buying the Viscount’s well-known love child from his elven mistress, the boy he swore to protect even if it meant razing the entire Free Marches?”

The slaver leader considered it for a moment. “I seek no war with the Free Marches. Take the lad to his father.”

“Hand him over then, if you’re serious,” Hawke pressed.

The man lowered his sword, jerking his head at Feynriel. “Go.” Feynriel pushed himself to his feet and quickly descended the stairs. “This was the price set on the boy. Please accept it…as an offer of peace.” He tossed a bag of coin to Hawke, who caught it deftly. “We’re out of here.”

“Fenris,” Hawke said quietly. “Take Isabela and Carver. Make sure those men have a very bad day.”

“With pleasure,” Fenris growled, drawing his greatsword and following the slavers.

“Give me your hands,” Hawke said, drawing her backup dagger and slicing through Feynriel’s bonds.

“Who are you?” Feynriel asked suspiciously. “Are you working for the Templars?”

“Would I have cut you free if that were the case?” Hawke asked. “Your mother sent me.”

Feynriel snorted. “Hardly a difference. I can’t believe her. My whole life it was all ‘I’ll love you and protect you.’ Then I have some bad dreams and it’s ‘off to the Templars!’”

“I’m here to help you, Feynriel,” Hawke said exasperatedly.

Feynriel’s face hardened. “Why? You don’t even know me.”

Hawke lifted a hand, mana flaring in her palm. “I _am _you.”

“Most of us here are,” Anders said, azure light glowing around his hands.

“You aren’t alone,” Merrill added, lightning crackling around a raised hand.

Feynriel’s eyes flicked to Varric, who chuckled. “Not me, no. I’m just along for the ride.”

“You know, you’re the first mages I’ve met,” Feynriel said. “Most are locked up like lepers.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Anders said. “Or…maybe you have some idea.”

“Would…is there any chance you’d help me reach the Dalish? That’s where I was trying to go. See if they would take me in. I’m as much Dalish as I am human.”

“You’d be alone among the Dalish,” Hawke warned. “Even more than a Dalish would be here.”

“Compared to being held prisoner, or made Tranquil?” Feynriel said skeptically. “I’ll risk being lonely. Look, I know it’s different in other kingdoms, but here…no one helps Circle mages. Anything the Templars don’t like, you get the brand. The Dalish, they’ve had magic forever. They could teach me. I won’t be a danger, I swear.”

“It would be your humanity that marks you among the people,” Merrill said softly. “Not your magic. But I think they will take you.”

“With the Dalish, he stands a chance of getting away from Kirkwall,” Hawke replied. “The Veil is so _thin _here. I don’t…I don’t know why. But any mage is going to be bothered by demons here.”

“The Dalish Keeper is wise,” Feynriel insisted. “If anyone can help, she can.”

“I know the Keeper,” Hawke said. “I’m not sure how much of a string I could pull there, but I’ll ask her to take you in.”

—ROTC—

“So what now?” Carver asked as they left the cave. “We go tell his mother ‘your boy’s alive, but he hates you?’” Hawke shrugged in reply.

“You didn’t mention the boy was a mage,” Fenris said darkly.

“Would it have changed anything?” Hawke asked. “There were slavers. Now there are dead slavers. The fact that he was a mage had nothing to do with it.”

“Doesn’t it?” Fenris asked. Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by screaming ahead, and Hawke drew her staff, dashing forward to find mercenaries battling a pack of giant spiders. The screaming was coming from one of the mercenaries, who was currently being savaged by one of the giant creatures. Hawke spun her staff, mustering her magic and bringing down a localized storm on the spiders, lightning bolts spearing down and blasting spiders away from the mercenaries. The few surviving mercenaries fell back from the magical display, most of them cowering in their armor around a lone dwarf as Hawke and her companions ripped apart the last of the spiders.

“What do I pay you people for?” the dwarf snapped. “My thanks, stranger.”

“Are you all right?” Hawke asked.

“No thanks to this lot,” the dwarf said. “Can’t get a decent blade at a bargain anymore. You, though, you’re what a man needs – a skilled enthusiast.” 

“Your mess just picked me up on the way by,” Hawke replied. There was no hiding how much magic had just been thrown around, but the dwarf didn’t seem to care.

“Still better than what I had,” the dwarf pressed. “Look, the name’s Javaris Tintop. I need someone to help pacify the Qunari.”

“Why do I get the feeling he’s not talking about singing them a lullaby?” Varric commented.

“Those horn-heads in Kirkwall have a powder,” Javaris explained. “That explodes. And it’s just dust, no lyrium, no demons. Anyone can use it.”

“I’ve heard of this,” Anders said. “It’s why their ships are so feared.”

“The Qunari don’t give anything up,” Hawke said. “I doubt they were eager to sell.”

Javaris shrugged. “That Arishok said I wasn’t worthy, that only their outcasts, the Tal-Vashoth, are that mercenary. I said ‘great, I’ll go talk to them.’ Didn’t go over well. But, it made me think – maybe he’ll bargain if I get rid of something that bothers him more than, well, me.”

“You’re going to try to kill the Tal-Vashoth?” Hawke asked. “Do you really think going up against a bunch of rogue Qunari is a great idea?”

“I don’t, but you seem capable enough,” Javaris said. “Are you up for some paid hunting?”

“It wouldn’t be cheap,” Hawke warned. “I make it a point not to mess with giant horned warriors that may or may not have explosives.”

“I’m done bargain hunting,” Javaris said. “I want it done right. Best I can tell, they’re here on the Wounded Coast, a whole camp. Take their heads off and meet me at the compound in Kirkwall. Get this right, and we’ll be richly rewarded. Richly!” He glared at the remaining mercenaries. “Come on, you lot. Let’s get out of here before something _else _you can’t handle shows up.”

Searching for the Tal-Vashoth took hours along the Wounded Coast, up and down the winding paths. Bandits, giant spiders, and other lovely residents of the Wounded Coast were all less than pleased to find Hawke’s group happening upon them, but the six of them were more than a match for most challenges.

It was only when they were rounding a bend in the trail that a voice called out from above. “You endanger yourself, human! Do not say you were unwarned!”

“I don’t even wake Bianca for every threat anymore,” Varric scoffed. “That sounded vaguely Qunari, we’ve probably found what we were looking for.”

Sure enough, a Qunari emerged from an uphill trail, holding out a hand. “No further, human! Tal-Vashoth control these passages.”

“We’re more than capable of meeting any threat,” Hawke replied, ignoring the blood spattered across her tunic.

The Qunari looked them over. “So I see. I expected to warn a caravan, not a well-equipped tracker. The path ahead is littered with my kind. If you are as skilled as you look, it would please me if you killed them.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “You have turned your back on your kin?”

“Yes. For a second time. I did not like my role, so I left the Qun. I do not wish to be a murdering thief, so I left these Tal-Vashoth to warn their victims. You are no victim, so now I will leave.”

“What will you do?” Hawke asked.

“I still need order, even if I insult the core of the Qun by selling my honor as a mercenary. You have my word of caution, human. Heed it, or do not.”

“The more they talk, the less I understand,” Varric muttered.

The Tal-Vashoth were encamped up the slope, an organized group that did not expect a pack of attackers with three mages among their number to come charging up the slope at them. Clearing the camp was difficult, but with Merrill, Anders, and Hawke able to use magic without fear of discovery, they were soon pushing into the abandoned mine caverns that the rest of the Tal-Vashoth had commandeered as a hideout.

There were another dozen Tal-Vashoth inside, and Fenris and Carver took the lead, matching their heavy swords against the Qunari’s polearms and thrown spears. In the half-light, Isabela’s strikes were lethal and seemed to come from nowhere, and a single Qunari quickly became her sole focus when he revealed himself to be a mage. With the Tal-Vashoth’s mage lying in a puddle of his own blood, the biggest threat was neutralized, and as Hawke incinerated the Tal-Vashoth officer with a bolt of lightning, the cavern fell silent besides the panting of Hawke’s companions.

“Killed the lot,” Varric said distastefully. “I bet that dwarf is waiting at the compound.”

“How did you learn swording?” Merrill asked as they backtracked out of the cave.

“Swording?” Carver echoed.

“Those things you do with the sword. It looks tricky. Was it hard to learn?”

Carver shrugged. “It takes a lot of practice.”

Merrill nodded. “Well, you seem good at it! I bet one day you'll be best sworder in Kirkwall.”

Carver sighed. “Merrill...”

“I said something wrong again, didn't I? Maybe I'll just stop talking.”

“Do you even know her name, shem?” An angry voice called out ahead. “No? It’s Danyla. She’s dead. And you killed her!”

“Danyla’s a Dalish name,” Merrill said.

“This day just keeps getting better and better,” Hawke muttered as they came upon several Dalish elves surrounding a human. “Are they from your clan?”

“No,” Merrill said, raising her voice. “_Andaran atish’an_.” The elf nodded a greeting to Merrill, before resuming glaring at the human.

“I was a beast then,” the man said. “A werewolf. I did…many terrible things. I-I’m sorry.”

“Sorry does not bring my mother back!” the elf spat.

“I was a victim too, elf,” the man replied. “Of Zathrian’s vengeance.” He looked to Hawke. “Stranger, please calm her down.”

“Did I hear you right?” Hawke asked. “You’re a werewolf?”

“I was one, but no longer. Her Dalish Keeper cursed some humans with lycanthropy long ago. The disease spread over the years. But the Hero of Ferelden freed us.”

“Merrill, what do you think?” Hawke asked.

“Sister, rage is a festering thorn,” Merrill said softly. “Do not let it consume you.”

“This _monster _murdered my mother!” The elf insisted. “And you defend him?”

“Is this what your mother would want?” Hawke asked. “He may have a wife, children – certainly a family. What will they think of you? Kill him, and you become him.”

“You shame me,” the elf said softly after a pause. “My mother…would not want this.” She gave the man one last glare. “Leave, shem. Before I change my mind.”

—ROTC—

“Your son has taken refuge with the Dalish,” Hawke said. After convincing the Dalish to take in a half-elven apostate mage – no easy trick – they had returned to Kirkwall. The group had split up when they reached the city again, Fenris and Anders heading back to their usual haunts as Isabela and Varric made for the Hanged Man and Carver took some of the coin the slavers had yielded and bought dinner for the Hawke family. Hawke and Merrill had headed for Kirkwall’s Alienage.

“What?” Ariane asked, her eyes widening. “But he is human. They did not even wish me to raise him among them.”

“Not all the clans are tolerant of such things,” Merrill said somberly.

“They do value magic more than the men of Kirkwall,” Ariane admitted. “Perhaps he can have both safety and freedom…”

“He’ll be trained there,” Hawke said. “He may not have the easiest life, but it beats living in the Gallows.”

“As I said, I have little money,” Ariane said, holding out a ring, “But this is a Dalish ring that has been in my family for generations. Please accept it with my thanks.”

Hawke shook her head. “The Dalish have little enough to remember their history by. I will not take more.” Next to her, Merrill’s face softened. “Perhaps I could ask a favor in exchange?”

“Anything,” Ariane said immediately.

“My friend Merrill here is new to the Alienage,” Hawke said, putting a hand on Merrill’s shoulder. “Could you show her around?”

Merrill’s cheeks pinked. “Hawke, you don’t have to…”

“It would be a pleasure,” Ariane said.

Hawke gave her new friend a smile. “I’ll be back a little later to look in on you, all right?”

Dinner at the Hawke-Amell household consisted of a roasted chicken and a loaf of bread. “You got another letter,” Carver said, passing it across the table. “Someone else in need of help. They say innocents are on the line.”

Hawke sighed, reading the letter. “Well, we can at least check it out. Not like we have any other leads.”

—ROTC—

A few of the elves gave Hawke suspicious looks as she crossed the Alienage’s tiny square the next morning, but they knew better than to start trouble with a human. Hawke paused in front of the large tree growing in the Alienage square. Lothering had been too small for an alienage of its own, and the tree – _venedahl, _she remembered – was decorated with intricate swirls of paint, and candles and other offerings were placed on dishes and benches around it. There wasn’t a single tree or bush in the rest of Lowtown, and Hawke found the tree a reminder of the forests around Lothering. Snapping out of her reverie, Hawke knocked on the pitted wood of Merrill’s front door, and a moment later the door opened.

“I didn’t think you’d come!” Merrill said brightly. “I’ll find something relatively clean for you to sit on.” Merrill’s house was roughly the same size as Gamlen’s, but with only one person living in it there was far more room to move around. “Can I get you something to eat or drink? I have…water.”

“I came here to see you, Merrill,” Hawke said gently. “You don’t have to fuss over me.”

“You’re so kind,” Merrill replied. “My first guest, and I’m already a terrible host. I wanted to thank you for bringing me here, but I’m making a mess of it.”

“I’m not sure this was a kindness,” Hawke said. “Kirkwall’s Veil is thin, and there’s an awful lot of Templars about.”

“It’s not…pretty,” Merrill admitted, “but this is where I need to be. I haven’t exactly had many friends. Not even among my own clan. This is…tricky.”

Sensing an opportunity, Hawke pressed. “What made you unpopular among the Dalish?”

“Being First to the Keeper, I was always…a bit secluded,” Merrill explained. “I studied magic and history while the others were learning the Vir Tanadhal. It’s good that I left. I’d have made a terrible Keeper. I was never that good with people.”

“You seem to be getting the hang of it already,” Hawke said warmly.

“I’m glad you think so,” Merrill said, giving her a smile. “Thank you for coming to visit me, Hawke. It…means a lot to me. This city is amazing. Do you know, I saw someone get mugged? Right outside! It was amazing! Everything happens all at once! How does anyone keep it all straight?”

“Someone is jumped outside your door and that’s exciting?” Hawke asked.

“It must be the Alienage greeting,” Merrill concluded. “Hasn’t happened to me yet, though. They must not like me.”

_Or they know you’ve got friends_, Hawke thought. “Are you getting by?”

“It’s so busy here,” Merrill said. “So many things just get…lost.”

“The Templars haven’t spotted you, have they?” Hawke asked.

“I’ve been careful,” Merrill said. “Even among the Dalish, Keepers never work magic in public. And I think the Templars don’t even see me. I’m just another elf in the Alienage.”

Hawke sensed a deep loneliness in the elf. “Are you feeling lost here, Merrill?”

“A bit,” Merrill admitted. “But…I’ll adjust. I’m glad you came by. I needed someone to talk to.”

“I’ll come by as often as I can,” Hawke promised. “Are you doing anything today? We’ve got another couple jobs out on the Wounded Coast.”

They collected Anders, Isabela, Carver, and Varric from the Hanged Man, the healer having been alerted earlier to meet them there. “There’s nothing but trouble out here,” Varric muttered as they finished off their fourth group of bandits of the day.

“Well we _are_ going looking for the trouble,” Hawke admitted. “Come on.”

“We’re near the Bone Pit,” Carver remarked. “Shouldn’t we see what’s going on there too?”

“That’s the plan,” Hawke said. “But first we’re going to see what the deal is with this letter.”

Anders paused, sniffing the air. “That’s not good.”

Hawke stopped, sniffing as well. “What? I don’t smell…what’s that smell?”

“Dragons,” Anders said flatly.

“You’ve fought dragons before?” Carver asked. “Just what did the Wardens get up to?”

“It’s a long and disturbing story,” Anders said darkly. “Be alert.”

There were dragonlings ahead, a half-dozen immature dragons that from a distance seemed almost cute. Closer inspection revealed an ability to release bursts of flame that singed Carver’s mercenary armor and nearly set Isabela’s hair alight. Between the group’s combined strength they died easily enough, and the six of them stopped to catch their breath as Anders healed a nasty burn Carver had picked up.

They rounded the last bend in the road, and Hawke and Anders both stopped short at the sight of who they were supposed to meet, standing in front of the mouth of a cave. “_Templar_,” Anders hissed. “We should leave.”

“If this is an ambush, we’re already in it,” Hawke replied. “Let’s just see what he wants.”

Anders clearly was unconvinced but remained silent as they approached the Templar. “Mistress Hawke,” the man said. “Arianni tells me you sought a better path than the Circle for her son Feynriel.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hawke said flatly.

“Nor would I expect you to,” the Templar replied. “We have found neither hide nor hair of the lad. I can only think he has fallen victim to demons or slavers. The investigation has been closed, but I thought perhaps you would be willing to show mages a kindness once more.”

“Do I know you?” Hawke asked.

The man bowed his head slightly. “I am Ser Thrask, of the Templars.”

“Wait, Ser _Thrask_?” Hawke interrupted, fishing around in her pocket. “I think I have a letter for you here. It was addressed to you. It seems to be from your daughter.”

Thrask’s eyes widened. “Then…you know what she is. How she died…when I traced her to that warehouse…I should have forced her into the Circle. My own weakness in the face of her pleas is what destroyed her.”

“A demon destroyed her,” Anders said fiercely. “Your compassion is what let her live her life free.”

“You have my sympathies,” Hawke said, shooting a warning glance at Anders. “Do not fear the Templars finding out. But why did you summon me all the way out here?”

“I was hoping to convince you to show mages a kindness once more. There is a group of apostate mages hiding in these caverns.”

“We are _not _going to kill apostates for you!” Anders snapped.

“I was hoping you might _speak _to the group,” Thrask said with a wary glance at Anders. “Convince them to surrender peacefully before my fellow Templars arrive.”

“Who are these apostates?” Hawke asked. “Where did they come from?”

“These are the mages of the former Circle at Starkhaven. It burned to the ground, and their Templars sent for us to relocate the survivors. Unfortunately, they escaped on the journey. With their phylacteries burned, it has been nearly impossible to track them.”

Hawke tilted her head in confusion. “What’s a phylactery?”

“When a mage first joins the Circle, the first enchanter takes a sample of their blood. It is used as a focus to track the mage should he escape.”

“Do the other Templars intend to do worse than recapture the mages?”

“Ser Karras is a knight-lieutenant of the Templars, and a great crony of Meredith. Should he find apostates hiding from pursuit, Meredith will consider him justified in murdering the lot of them.”

“Yes, let’s avoid that if possible,” Hawke said, forcing a smile. “I would not like to see this become a massacre.”

“Your compassion does you credit,” Thrask said. “These mages have shown that they attack Templars on sight. You have a better chance than I to convince them they are better off alive in the Circle than free and dead. Ser Karras hunts them as well. If they have not surrendered by the time he arrives, this will be a blood bath.” He stood aside, and they entered the cave.

“I thought you wanted to _avoid _Templar notice,” Carver muttered. “You brought three mages.”

“I didn’t expect them to come to us,” Hawke protested. “Let’s just move. The last thing we need is that Ser Karras showing up and catching us.” She paused. “Do you hear that? Sounds like…something shuffling around?”

There was a flare of magic deeper in the cave, and the smoky hiss of blood burning as corpses shambled towards them. Hawke cursed, and Bianca went off in the dim light, followed by a pained gurgle and the sound of a body hitting the ground. The others tore into the animated corpses, and as the last one fell, Anders shook his head. “They’ve raised the bloody dead. They must be truly desperate.”

Hawke knelt over the dead mage, examining the corpse. “Nice shot, Varric.”

“Please tell me we’re not going to force these poor fools back into the Circle,” Anders said.

“Considering this one attacked us without even waiting to find out who we were, it may not matter what we want to do,” Hawke said. “Come on. I can smell those Templars getting closer.”

More undead waited deeper in the caverns, and the group quickly set to ripping them apart, the snap of magic and the clash of blades echoing off the damp rock walls. Luckily, the undead were poor fighters despite their fearlessness, and Hawke’s companions had them outmatched. “If there’s anyone alive in there, we’re not Templars!” Hawke hollered. “We’re just here to speak with you!”

A head poked out from around the corner. “You’re not Templars?”

“You see a flaming sword anywhere?” Hawke asked. “Who are you?”

“Maker’s blessing,” the mage babbled. “I’m Alain. I thought I was going to die down here in this…this tomb. Are you with the Templars? Please, I need to go back to the Circle. I never wanted to get involved in this. Not when he started making those…those things!”

“Who is this ‘he’ you’re talking about?” Hawke asked.

“Decimus,” Alain said. “It was his decision. He kept saying the Templars would label us blood mages if we fled – why not use it if it’s our best tool?”

“Besides the fact that it makes the Templars that much more determined to kill you?” Anders asked.

“He slit his wrist, and the magic…it rose from the blood and woke the skeletons in the cave. I ran. Decimus is wrong. Blood magic is a work of evil, not just a power the Templars keep from us for spite.”

Hawke pinched the bridge of her nose. “Decimus is the leader of these mages?”

“He’s crazy,” the mage said. “He said with our phylacteries gone, no one could find us. We would be free, but I think maybe he set the fire. There must be a demon working through him. No normal man would profane the dead like this.”

Hawke motioned back the way they had come. “The Templar Thrask is waiting outside. Surrender to him and you won’t be hurt.” Alain took off towards the exit.

“Sounds like this Decimus is the man to talk to,” Varric said.

“Talk,” Hawke replied absently, gripping her staff. “Right. Talk.”

The caverns widened up ahead, and Hawke spotted a flare of magic and nearly responded with a fireball before realizing there were no incoming corpses. “They’re here! The Templars have come to take us back to the Circle!” The man speaking was an enchanter with shaggy blond hair and a thick beard.

Another one of the mages looked them over warily. “Decimus, no! Stay your hand. These are no Templars.”

“What do I care what shield they carry, Grace? If they challenge us, the dead themselves will meet the call!” The other mages fled as Decimus cast again, and as a pack of corpses raised themselves around them, Hawke wished she had brought Fenris.

“Carver, take him out!” Hawke barked, blowing the head off a corpse with a bolt of lightning. The swordsman bulled forward, dodging two spells from Decimus and lopping off his head with shocking ease.

With the greatest threat lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, Hawke and her companions mopped up the rest of the corpses easily, but Carver kept his sword drawn, watching the other mages warily.

“Enough!” Hawke shouted. “We’re not here to hurt them. Everyone calm down!”

“You killed him!” The woman who had spoken before gasped. “Oh, Decimus, you should have listened to me, love…” She rounded on Hawke. “I saw what you are! How could you murder one of your own just for daring to defy the Templars?”

“We murdered him because he_ attacked us_,” Hawke said acidly. “He obviously meant a lot to you.”

“He was our future!” Grace cried. “Until he came, we never thought to fight back. I told Decimus he was going too far, but he said it was the only way to protect us. To protect me.” Her eyes grew wide. “Please…we only want our freedom. Without your help, the Templars will execute us all for Decimus’s crimes.”

“They would, at that,” Anders said quietly.

“If not in the Circle, how do you intend to live?” Hawke asked.

“I hear there are places, outside the Free Marches, where the Templars are not so vigilant.”

“I would never turn a fellow mage over to the Templars,” Hawke pronounced. Carver frowned, but nodded.

“Then we must first throw off pursuit,” Grace said. “There is a Templar who followed us. You must have met him when you entered. Kill him, and we can get clear of Kirkwall before the Templars send more men.”

“You’d better run awful fast, then,” Hawke said. “Ser Thrask is outside, yes, but there’s more Templars that are on the way already.”

“Better the death of one Templar than so many innocents,” Anders mused.

“Except that would mean bringing down Templar attention on _us_,” Hawke said.

“Will you buy us time to flee Kirkwall?” the mage asked.

“We can’t kill those Templars,” Hawke said, “But by the time we’re done with them, they’ll swear the sky is green.”

“I’d sleep better knowing we weren’t being pursued, but I’ll take what I can get,” the mage said. “I spent two weeks traveling with these Templars. They strike first and think after. They are far easier to kill than to fool.”

“Either way, we better get moving,” Varric warned. “That Ser Karras is probably almost here.”

Sure enough, more Templars were approaching Ser Thrask when Hawke and her companions reached the mouth of the cavern. Hawke signaled her companions to wait. “Are you trying to tell me this boy is all that’s left of the apostates?” The newcomer Templar demanded.

“I ran away when they began to use blood magic, ser,” Alain said.

“They are not in the caverns, Ser Karras,” Thrask said. “I have thoroughly explored-”

“Who is this?” Karras said as Hawke came into view.

Hawke glanced to Varric. “Tell him who we are.”

“What’s the trouble, Ser Thrask?” Varric asked. “Did the knight-commander forget to tell Ser Karras that Enchanter Hawke came from Ferelden to help her root out rebel mages?”

“Yes,” Thrask said, catching on to what Varric was saying. “I was just about to tell him.”

“We’ve completed our investigation of the mages in those caverns,” Varric went on. “There is no one left inside.”

“The apostates resorted to blood magic, as the boy said,” Hawke said. “They ended up turning on each other.”

“Their leader fled the battlefield ahead of us,” Varric added. “Bloody coward left his own people to die. I only caught a glimpse, but it looked like the back passages led out to the coast. I sent your men that way.”

“We can still catch up if we go around the caverns,” Thrask suggested to Karras. “That’s the faster route.”

“The coast, you say?” Karras said. “Men, fan out, search the shore. We’ll retrieve these corpses later. I will commend you to the knight-commander, Enchanter Hawke. It is rare to see a mage cooperate with authorities.” He led his men down the trail, but Thrask lingered long enough to thank them.

After a minute, Hawke turned back to the cave and whistled. “I didn’t think you could do it,” Grace said as the other mages emerged from the cave behind them. “Truly you must be able to charm a miser out of his last coin. I did not think any of us would leave those caverns alive.”

“It won’t be an easy path, trying to live free as a mage,” Hawke warned.

“But it will be my path,” Grace said. “Now, we must flee as far as we can before nightfall. Thank you, friend.” She started moving down the trail.

“That Thrask seemed like a decent man,” Anders said. “For a Templar.”

Hawke grunted noncommittally. “We’re supposed to meet Aveline nearby. That escaped criminal is probably dead, but we stand a chance of getting in good with the magistrate anyway.”

—ROTC—

_Kirkwall – Darktown  
Darktown was once a mine controlled by the Tevinter Imperium. Once exhausted, the mineshafts were extended under the city to dispose of sewage from Kirkwall's overcrowded population of slaves._

_Unsurprisingly, the tunnels became a refuge for those fleeing captivity. A similar trend continues today. The "Undercity," as some call it, is home to the diseased, the insane, to criminals, and even the dead—unwanted corpses are often discarded here by murderers and lazy undertakers._

_Darktown's slums makes Lowtown look pleasant in comparison. The foul miasma known as chokedamp clogs and swells in every corner of the Darktown, creating a poisonous mist. Its sewers are a dangerous place. The walls are damp, slick, and coated with phosphorescent lichen. The sewer is a maze, and one foolish enough to enter is not likely to be heard from again.  
—From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.


	9. Odd Jobs, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and company keep side questing it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Bianca  
Varric's crossbow is a marvel of dwarven craftsmanship, clearly the work of a master. However, she bears no smith's mark._

_When asked how he procured the weapon, Varric has a few claims. He could have won it in a game of Wicked Grace against Paragon Branka, it could've been a gift from a mysterious old beggar who disappeared into thin air, and it's possible he bought it off a crooked merchant in Lowtown with the previous owner's hand still wrapped around the trigger._

_None of those explanations is very likely and continued questioning simply results in Varric grinning and walking away._

—ROTC—

“Aveline,” Hawke called as they approached the group of guards outside the cave entrance.

“Hawke, good,” Aveline said. “I’m glad you’re here.” She fell in beside Varric as Hawke approached the guard in charge.

“I’ve been sent here for the man you’ve cornered here in the ruins,” Hawke said.

The guard rubbed his chin. “So you’re the reinforcements the magistrate promised. The man you’re looking for, he’s holed up in the ruins. Though I doubt he’s still in one piece.”

“That bastard’s to be brought in alive after all he’s done?” A voice called. Hawke turned, seeing a male elf approaching, his face twisted in anger. “Just because it isn’t you and your pretty little shemlen childen he’s after?”

“Please, calm down and tell me what happened,” Hawke said.

“The man you’re after, he targets elves!” the elf said. “He dragged my daughter into those ruins and killed her! I want him _dead_! My girl, Lia, she wasn’t his first victim. Over the years he’s taken dozens of our children and not once has he paid for his crimes!”

“Would you mind telling me who you are?” Hawke asked, hoping the man would calm down.

“My name is Elren, I’m a merchant in the city. Please, no one else cares that our children are being slaughtered like beasts.”

“And no humans have taken offense to these disappearances?” Hawke asked.

“We’re nothing to them,” Elren spat. “Even if this murderer does finally go before the courts, the magistrate won’t taken our word over his. We’re easy prey. No one thinks twice when an elven child disappears.”

“Odds are he’s dead,” Hawke said. “But I’m going in there to make sure.”

“You couldn’t turn to the guards?” Aveline asked.

“For all my damned coin, I’m still only an elf to these shemlen,” Elren said. “There’ll be no justice for my girl in the courts of Kirkwall.”

Hawke turned to the guard. “And what do you say to all this?” She asked pointedly.

“Yes, what do you have to say?” Aveline chimed in.

“They won’t go in after him,” Elren growled. “They’re stalling, trying to give the murdering bastard a chance to get away.”

“Oy now, elf,” the guard said. “Like we said before, you’re bleeding mad if you think we’ll be going against the magistrate’s orders.”

“This murderer cannot be allowed to walk free,” Hawke said.

“Then that bastard will finally get what he deserves,” Elren replied. “Thank you.”

“Not wise, stranger,” the guard said. “You try to take justice into your own hands, the magistrate’ll have your head.”

“Only if it’s reported,” Aveline replied.

“I must do what is right,” Hawke said to the guard. “Come on, let’s clear these ruins out.”

The beasts the guards had encountered turned out to be giant spiders, dangerous in the close quarters but no match for three mages and a quartet of other skilled fighters. A pack of bandits hiding out in a side chamber weren’t any more of a challenge, but following the path past the dead spiders led deeper into the ruins. More spiders and an arcane horror awaited them, the horror raising the corpses of the guards previously sent to arrest the fugitive.

The group was battered and bruised when they finally killed the horror, but they kept moving. Hawke wasn’t sure who was more surprised when they came upon a young elven girl sniffling in the next corridor. She was alive and appeared to be unhurt, and shrank back slightly as Hawke approached. “Who are you?” she asked. “Please, can you get me out of here? I just want to go home.”

“Don’t be afraid, da’len,” Merrill said softly. “Everything’s going to be all right now.”

“Lia?” Hawke asked. The elf nodded, rubbing at her nose. “Your father told us you were dead!”

“My father?” Lia asked. “Is he safe? Kelder said that he’d hurt my family if I didn’t come with him.”

Hawke nodded, keeping her staff ready. “He’s worried, but he’s fine. Who is Kelder? The man who took you?” Lia nodded. “I don’t see any injuries. Are you all right?”

Lia hung her head. “He hit me. Told me I was nothing. I begged him to stop hurting me. I didn’t think he would, but out of nowhere, he pushed me away and just…started crying. Don’t you see? He didn’t mean to hurt me! He told me! There are demons, they make him do these horrible things!”

“What kind of demons?” Hawke asked worriedly. “What did they look like?”

“I…don’t know what they look like,” Lia admitted. “I didn’t actually see any of them. But Kelder told me to run, to get away so they couldn’t make him hurt me anymore. Please don’t kill him, it’s not his fault! Please!”

“I’m taking Kelder back to Kirkwall,” Hawke lied. “They’ll figure out what to do with him there.” She turned. “Aveline, can you make sure she gets out safely?”

Aveline glared at Hawke, aware of exactly why Hawke had chosen her to escort Lia out of the ruin. “Yes,” She said after a few moments. “Yes, I can do that.”

“Hawke,” Varric said softly as the two left. “What are you planning?”

“Justice clearly isn’t being done in the courts,” Hawke said. “I don’t know if it’s because he targets elves or some deeper corruption, but this Kelder is _not _making it out of this ruin alive. But if there are demons about…be careful, everyone.”

Kelder turned out to be a man in fine clothes, well-fed and sitting against a column deeper in the ruins. He barely looked up at their approach. “I knew my father would eventually send someone. I was hoping the beasts down here would get to me first.”

“You wanted those creatures to kill you?” Hawke asked, keeping her staff ready. If the man was dangerous, she wanted to be ready.

“It’s what I deserve,” he said softly. “I should be torn apart, forgotten down here, not protected by my father.”

“The magistrate sent me,” Hawke replied. “I don’t think I’ve even met your father.”

“He didn’t tell you, did he?” Kelder said, standing up. Hawke tensed, but the man appeared to be unarmed. “The magistrate is my father. He’s tried so hard to keep me, and what I’ve done, hidden away.”

“The magistrate is supposed to protect the people of the city, and that includes the elves,” Hawke spat.

“Father is a good man,” Kelder insisted. “He tried to help, to stop me. But he can’t…no one can.”

“I got a few ideas on stopping him,” Carver muttered.

Kelder turned away. “That elf girl…she had no right to be so beautiful, so perfect. The demon said she needed to be taught a lesson like all the others. The Circle was supposed to help me, but they lied. They said that there were no demons, that I was mad. This isn’t my fault.”

“He’s lying,” Anders said. “There are no demons here. Just evil men looking for an excuse.”

Hawke glared at the man. “If the Circle suspected a demon at work, they wouldn’t risk setting you loose in the city.”

“No!” Kelder cried. “They lied!”

“This is you!” Hawke shouted back. “All of it is you!”

“No! It’s the demons!” Kelder shook his head. “I can’t stop. I’ve tried so many times. Please, you have to kill me.”

“Gladly,” Hawke hissed, swinging her staff up and around. The first blow with the weighted end of her staff fractured Kelder’s skull and knocked him cold. The second sent his brains spilling across the stone floor. Hawke wiped down the end of her staff on the man’s clothes, before turning and leading her companions back out of the ruins with a grim look on her face.

“You saved her!” Elren said as they came into view, Lia in his arms. “My little girl. I didn’t dare hope. Did you find that monster? Is he dead?”

“He won’t harm Lia, or anyone else, ever again,” Hawke replied.

“I didn’t think an elf could ever get justice in Kirkwall,” Elren said. “I speak for all of us when I say that we are in your debt, serah.”

“I feel just as bad for the knife-ears as the next man,” the guard said, “but ignoring the magistrate’s direct orders? That’s madness.”

“He actually was already dead,” Hawke said. “Believe me, I was as surprised as anyone. I would have gladly killed him, but there was a pack of bandits that got to him first. We killed them, but they’d already bashed his head in. They nearly got Lia.”

“Who?” The guard asked.

Hawke grimaced. “The elven girl that he nearly killed? The one we sent out with your new Captain?” She left the ‘you idiot’ unsaid.

“Oh her. I see. Well, you’ll get to square it with the magistrate, not me. We’ll clean up here.”

“Feel like clearing out the Bone Pit, Aveline?” Hawke asked as the guards entered the ruins.

“You need to stop shutting me out,” Aveline said quietly.

“You’re guard captain now, you need to stop expecting us to do crime in front of you,” Hawke replied.

“Speaking of crime, I’ve got another job lead or two for you.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Another bandit group targeting a caravan?”

Aveline shook her head. “Missing person. There’s a nobleman whose wife supposedly vanished. The guard doesn’t have time to chase down some wife who ran off, and we wouldn’t even if we did have the time, but an independent investigator could do it.”

“We could look into it,” Hawke said. “What else?”

“The Viscount’s son has apparently been kidnapped,” Aveline said bluntly.

Hawke stopped in her tracks. “Pardon?”

Aveline nodded. “You heard me. There’s an open bounty, but a mercenary captain came in saying she’d tracked them to the Wounded Coast. I figured as long as we were in the area…”

“Side trip!” A chorus of groans went up.

—ROTC—

“The seneschal was less than happy that a Nevarran mercenary company was the one to locate Saemus,” Aveline said as they tracked out to the Wounded Coast. “I’m not sure whether he was more offended by their being mercenaries, or their being Nevarran. Either way, he was pleased when I said you might be interested in the job. The mercenary captain, Ginnis, didn’t inspire much confidence that Saemus would be returned unharmed.”

“And you said they think it was a Qunari who took him?” Hawke asked. “That’s odd, I didn’t know the Qunari took hostages.”

“They don’t,” Aveline said. “Or at least, they haven’t so far. The Viscount’s son would be a powerful bargaining chip. And if the city were to be seen sending the city guard…”

“Then tensions would only rise,” Hawke finished. “Lovely.”

There was a shout from up ahead. “You _vashedan_ bitch!”

“That one of their words?” A woman who could only be Ginnis was standing over a man on his knees and a dead Qunari with several arrows sticking out of his chest. “See, that’s why you need to be dragged home. You’re playing too nice with those things. I’ll wager you’ve gone even further than that. Haven’t you, brat?”

“Sounds like he doesn’t want to go with you,” Hawke called.

“Competition?” Ginnis asked. “Well, you’re too late. The Winters…_I_ have already claimed him.”

“Serah!” Saemus said. “If I must go back, so be it, but I will not see these…murderers rewarded!”

“Spoiled shit!” Ginnis snarled. “I’ll cut out your tongue and charge extra for bringing you back quiet!” She drew her daggers. “And as for you!” She fell with a crossbow bolt through the neck, and everyone moved at once. Isabela was dueling two of the Winters alone before Aveline bulled forward and body-checked one of the mercenaries off a nearby cliff as Hawke, Anders, and Merrill opened up with destructive spells. Carver sprinted up a nearby ridge, carving through the trio of archers the Winters had used to ambush the dead Qunari and Saemus as Varric reloaded, putting another bolt into Ginnis for good measure.

“Come on,” Hawke said, grabbing Saemus by the shoulder. “We have to get out of here before more of those bastards show up.” Isabela looked up from looting one of the bodies, and the group hurried along the trails, hearing shouting behind them as more of the Winters found their captain dead.

“I’ve never seen so many corpses,” Saemus groaned, looking green. “So much blood!”

“You hurt?” Hawke asked.

The young man shook his head. “Just…shaken.”

“Who was that Qunari they killed?”

“Ashaad,” Saemus replied, sighing. “He never lied, never coddled. You were worth his time, or you were not. They are not the brutes others claim they are. Take me to my father, and I will try again to make him see.”

“Even if your father wanted to see, I think his position wouldn’t allow it,” Hawke replied. “Sorry we couldn’t bury your friend.”

“That body is no longer him and is worthy of no special treatment,” Saemus said. “It means nothing to them.”

“The Viscount’s concerned about your safety,” Hawke began as the city came into view.

“The _Viscount_ sends thugs to do a father’s job,” Saemus spat. “I was in no danger until his ‘help’ arrived.”

“About that,” Hawke said. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention _how _some of us rescued you.”

Saemus raised an eyebrow. “Whatever are you talking about? I didn’t see anything. You saved me from the Winters.”

“Good enough,” Hawke muttered.

If more of the Winters were waiting at the gates, they dared not attack the group with a member of the Kirkwall guard among them. Hawke and her companions hurried to the Keep, where they were ushered inside almost immediately by the seneschal.

The Viscount was a thin, anxious, harried, elderly man, and seemed somewhat out of his depth. “My son. I thought I’d lost you.”

“Enough, Father,” Saemus began, but the Seneschal interrupted.

“Allow me to present one Serah Hawke, Your Excellency. She fulfilled the bounty.” Hawke gave a Fereldan sort of bow from the waist, unsure of how to curtsy in her father’s old mercenary tunic.

“You have my gratitude,” the Viscount said. “I hope you encountered no great difficulties on my son’s behalf.”

“There were complications, but I was privileged to keep your son from harm,” Hawke said.

“I was told the Winters had involved themselves. Was there no way to avoid an incident?”

“They murdered my friend,” Saemus said darkly. “Where is the concern for that?”

“It was my understanding you were captured alone, foolishly traipsing about the coast as you do,” the Viscount said to his son, his voice tight.

“I was not captured, I was with Ashaad,” Saemus replied. “The Qunari. They are not monsters to be feared. If you would just try to understand, others would see as well.” He spoke with the tired tone of one who had had the argument before.

“Better that you were thought abducted than to have their influence suspected in my own family,” the Viscount insisted. “Benign or not, it’s too much.”

Hawke exchanged a glance with the seneschal. “Erm. Forgive me, Your Excellency, but this is clearly a private concern of yours.”

“Your actions are appreciated,” the Viscount said perfunctorily. “The seneschal will see you out.” The shouting was audible through the heavy oaken door as the seneschal escorted them to the outer office.

“Pardon me, but I don’t think I caught _your _name,” Hawke said.

“Senseschal Bran Cavin,” the man said stiffly. “If you will pardon me, Serah Hawke, your help was appreciated, but that relationship is concluded. Thank you for not entirely offending this office.”

“Before I go, one other business matter,” Hawke said. “You may want to look into the personal activities of Magistrate Vanard. His son Kelder was a murderer, and the good magistrate has been hushing up his son’s activities. It would reflect poorly upon the city if that were to come out.”

“I see,” Bran said disinterestedly, pulling a sack of coin from his desk. “Investigations will be made.”

The sun was beginning to set as they exited the Keep, and Carver looked to his sister. “Back to the Bone Pit?”

“We did promise to clear it out,” Hawke sighed. “Let’s get Fenris. Whatever we’re going to be dealing with there, I want another blade between us and it.”

“What, you think I can’t handle it?” Carver asked.

“I’d rather you not have to kill _everything_ on your own,” Hawke replied.

Picking up Fenris only took a few minutes, and they trooped back out of the city to the Bone Pit. The mine was in the foothills that bordered the city, the same range that eventually grew into the Vimmarks. Hawke could feel spirits pressing against the Veil as they approached the mine. The Bone Pit was ostensibly a quarry, but all activity had been halted with the emergence of whatever creatures had driven off the miners.

“You take us to the nicest places,” Anders commented as he looked around. “What happened here that the Veil is so thin?”

“This ground is cursed,” Fenris muttered. “Only wretched or ignorant souls would linger here.”

Hawke nodded. “I wonder if the Veil is this thin everywhere in Tevinter. If their atrocities are anything like what must have happened here…”

“They have good reason to call it the Bone Pit,” Fenris said. “Long ago, slaves that dropped dead from exhaustion were thrown into a pit for all the others to see. It served as intimidation and…convenient disposal.”

Hawke stared at him a moment. “Well, that’s charming.”

The entrance to the mine was deserted, carts upended in the miners’ rush to flee whatever was inside. “No bodies,” Varric said quietly. “Nothing. It’s like they just vanished.”

They stood in front of the mine entrance, an odd stench coming from deep inside the mine. “There’s a foul wind coming from that cavern,” Fenris said behind her. “I smell death.”

Anders sniffed the air coming from the mine. “More of those dragons. They’re probably what sent the miners running.”

“Don’t suppose you know how big they’ll be,” Hawke asked.

“If there was a High Dragon about, it would be outside, not inside,” Anders replied. “Smaller dragons – dragonlings – are not to be underestimated. I’ve fought them in close quarters before, and it’s dangerous at best. With your luck, I’d bet on a fully-grown male dragon. Possibly multiple dragons.”

Hawke nodded in understanding. “Bad news?”

“Together, we should be fine,” Anders said. “But if we didn’t have everyone here?” He gave a low whistle. “You’d be better off coming back with more muscle.”

“We’ve got Carver,” Hawke said. “Anything more might be overkill.” Carver rolled his eyes, but drew his sword and led the way into the mine with Aveline and Fenris close behind him.

Sure enough, there were dragonlings inside, along with a single drake near the entrance to the mine. “When I tell the story of fighting these dragons, I’ll make them three times taller,” Varric crowed as the party set to killing the dragons. The mages refrained from using fireballs in the close quarters of the mine and against creatures that could breathe fire, sticking to lightning or frost.

“You remind me of Hahren Paivel, Varric,” Merrill said when the last one dropped, and Hawke prodded one of the dragonlings with her staff, making sure it was really dead. “Only younger. And shorter. And not as serious.”

Varric smiled. “So it's a close resemblance, then.”

“Well, he tells stories,” Merrill said. “And you tell stories. Although none of his begin, ‘No shit, there I was.’”

Varric’s smile grew wider. “I'll have to give him some better stories, then.”

The mine tracks descended deeper down into the caverns. Fenris took the lead, dragon blood dripping from the edge of his blade from when he had hacked the head off of the drake.

More dragonlings were waiting in the dim light of the lanterns that lined the passages, as well as another drake. Killing them was difficult in the enclosed spaces, but with eight fighters the dragons were outmatched. When the last dragon fell and a dark figure emerged from a narrow side tunnel, Hawke nearly loosed a fireball before realizing it was a single, utterly filthy man.

“Praise Andraste you came along,” he said. “Them dragons would have sniffed me out for certain. They couldn’t get to me in that tunnel.”

“Slow down,” Hawke said. “Tell me what happened here.”

“I’ll tell you what I can, but be a friend and keep your voice down,” the man said, looking about nervously. “There’s another dragon close by. I’m Jansen.”

“Hawke. Where did the dragons come from?”

“We was mining a new tunnel when the wall collapsed, and dragons came through,” Jansen explained. “It was a bloody slaughter. Scared out of my wit, I ran like my ass was on fire – it probably was. Only I went the wrong way. Ended up trapped here.”

“Are you the only one who escaped?” Hawke asked.

“Some of my fellows ran for the surface,” Jansen said. “I hope they made it.”

“The path behind us is clear,” Hawke said, standing aside. “You should get out of here.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Jansen replied. “I haven’t eaten in days. You should leave too, but don’t go that way. There’s this huge dragon!”

“Ah.” Anders rubbed his chin. “I’d wondered if the dragons left their nest unguarded.”

“Anders, how do you fight a High Dragon?” Hawke asked, seeing daylight through the passage Jansen had indicated. The mage didn’t reply. “Anders?”

“I was waiting on the punchline,” he said weakly. “The way they told me was to blind it, cripple its wings, and then bleed it.”

“They told you?” Hawke echoed. “You never did it yourself?”

“I was there for two large dragon fights,” Anders sighed. “Both times, we came out with more injured than healthy, and we had two healers on hand.”

“Hubert owes us a few dozen drinks for this,” Hawke said. “We’ve got a dragon to kill.”

It was easy to find where the dragons had erupted into the mine tunnel, with dried blood smeared across the stone. “Now I know why there were no bodies,” Varric said grimly. “Those dragons had to be eating _something_.”

The tunnel opened up ahead to a wide chasm in the foothills, and there was an ear-popping roar as a mature dragon flew overhead and hit the packed earth with enough force to nearly knock the group off their feet. It exhaled a gout of flame, moments before both its eyes burst, courtesy of a well-aimed shot from Varric and a lightning bolt from Anders. “Blind it,” the healer repeated. “Now take the wings!” Fenris dashed forward, his greatsword carving through the membrane of one of the dragon’s wings. Carver was forced to abort his charge as the dragon jerked away from Fenris’s strike, his blade carving a deep gash along the dragon’s side as spells splashed across the dragon’s maw. Varric peppered the uninjured wing with holes as Merrill froze the dragon’s mouth shut, cutting off its fiery breath.

Carver bulled forward again, his sword raised. “I've got this one!” The dragon reared back at the noise, but without eyes it could not see Carver’s blade swinging at its neck until the blade bit deep into its flesh. Arterial blood sprayed, and Carver wrenched his blade free, swinging again and hacking wide open the wound in the dragon’s neck. The beast gurgled, collapsing as its lifeblood sprayed across the stone and dirt.

Carver wiped blood from his face, his heart pounding in his ears. “That’s how we did it back in Ferelden!” He crowed, holding his bloody blade aloft.

Hawke was standing off to one side, her jaw hanging open at her brother’s actions. “Carver, are you hurt?”

“Not a scratch,” the warrior said proudly. “I did that! Right there!” He whooped, shaking blood from his sword.

“Impressive, Carver,” Aveline allowed.

“Impressive is an understatement,” Varric said. “I’m buying a round of drinks later, Junior, and they’re all for you.”

Isabela flipped her blades back into their sheathes. “I didn’t even get a piece of that. Nice.”

Fenris was bent over the dragon’s slack jaw, extracting the dragon’s fangs. “These fetch a good price to the right buyer,” he said. “The scales, too.”

“You figure we could cart it back to the city?” Hawke asked.

“Better idea,” Carver said, sheathing his blade. “Varric, are dragon chops tasty?”

—ROTC—

They entered through a Lowtown gate, cutting down to the docks where Javaris was waiting. Isabela and Varric split off to the Hanged Man with a still-exuberant Carver as Aveline returned to Hightown where Hawke had agreed to meet her. Merrill, Fenris, and Anders stuck with Hawke as she approached the Qunari compound at the docks. “Let me pass,” Hawke said to the Qunari at the gate. “I have business with the dwarf Javaris and your Arishok.”

The Qunari stared impassively at her for several moments, until Hawke began to think he was waiting for her to leave. “The short mouth, yes,” he finally said. “Enter, if you must, basra.”

“Ah, my right hand arrives!” Javaris crowed as he spotted them approaching. “Summon your Arishok! The bargain is done!” The Qunari at the top of the steps vanished deeper into the compound, and Javaris gave Hawke an irritated look. “About time you showed. I’ve been here for hours.”

Hawke ignored him, looking up the stairs in front of them. At the top of the stairs was another gate, but in front of the gate was a heavy, ornately carved bench. A deep red blanket was thrown over the bench, and a number of the horned soldiers stood around it.

The Qunari that emerged and stood in front of the bench, evaluating them with a steely gaze was a head taller than the others and somehow managed to be even more massive. His horns were longer and thicker than the others of his kind, and bound with gold bands. He wore more armor than his fellows as well, large spaulders in the same vibrant red as the other Qunari’s warpaint, vambraces, and and a leather overskirt covering his leather breeches. His chest also sported the ubiquitous warpaint.

It could only be the Arishok. He settled himself on the bench and fixed Hawke and her companions with a level stare.

“Arishokost,” Fenris suddenly said. “Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun.”

“The Qun from an elf?” The Arishok rumbled. “The madness of this…place.”

“Friend of yours?” Hawke asked quietly.

“Friend of no one,” Fenris replied, just as quietly.

“Yes, well, that said,” Javaris said, trying to take control of the conversation, “I am here to report that your hated Tal-Vashoth were felled, one and all. Right?” Without waiting for Hawke to answer, he went on. “Yes, they were. So, I’m ready to open negotiations for the explosive powder. As we agreed.”

The Arishok stared at him for a moment. “No.”

“He’s not getting it,” Javaris hissed to Hawke. “Make your chatty elf say something.”

Hawke glanced to Fenris. “Any insight that would help?”

“Qunari do not abandon a debt,” Fenris said, not looking at Hawke. “I humbly request clarification from the Arishok.”

“I have a growing lack of disgust for you,” the Arishok said. “The dwarf imagined the deal for the gaatlok. He invented a task to prove his worth, when he has none.”

“Then we have wrongly inserted ourselves in your affairs,” Fenris said. “Would you have us kill this dwarf?” Hawke blinked in surprise, but Fenris could have been talking about the weather.

“Wait. What now?” Javaris asked.

“If you faced Tal-Vashoth, he is not worthy of dying to you. As he was not worthy of dying to them. But you – you keep good company. Let him live. And leave.”

“I’d take this opportunity to leave,” Hawke said to Javaris, before looking back to the Arishok. “He had big plans for your recipe. I was supposed to get a piece of that.”

The Arishok’s face managed to harden further. Hawke idly wondered if it could be sold as a construction material. “Dwarf, did your imaginary bargain make promises on my behalf?”

Javaris stammered. “I…expected your wisdom to be more profitable.”

A few of the Qunari nearby reached for their weapons. The Arishok stood. “Then you will _pay _on my behalf.”

Javaris threw up his arms. “Sod it all, take your coin, take whatever.” He shoved a coinpurse into Hawke’s hands and stormed off, muttering under his breath.

“You will leave as well, human,” the Arishok said. “There’s no more coin for you here.”

“Our apologies for taking up your time,” Hawke said. “But if you despise this place so much, why haven’t you left?”

The Arishok considered her a moment. “Since we arrived, I have seen nothing but greed and weakness. Dwarves, humans, elves – just…festering. No order. No _goal_. You are one of the few I have met with any ability. And yet this too was random, a result of selfishness. I cannot fathom how a mire like this can be justified. You say we should leave, but how can you bear to stay in this…chaos?”

“My welcome to the city was not so different from yours,” Hawke said softly.

“And yet you suffer it.”

Hawke shrugged. “It’s an opportunity to make a real difference.”

The Arishok stood, and Hawke fought the urge to make sure none of the Qunari nearby had drawn their weapons. “Karasten are soldiers,” he said, gesturing to a nearby soldier. “The Qun made it so. They can never vary from that assigned path, never be other than they are meant to be. But, they are free to choose within that role. To accept and succeed, or deny and die. Glory is clear and defined. Could you – could not this entire city – benefit from that certainty? How else will you know when you have made ‘a real difference?’”

“He’s free to choose to obey?” Hawke asked. “That isn’t contradictory to you?”

“He chooses to _be_,” the Arishok said. “As do we all, long before any of your meaningless freedoms are presented. I am not the one to educate you. I did not intend to land here. But this city may demand certainty. I suspect we are done, human.”

Hawke sensed a great deal of anger and frustration in the Qunari, not all of it a result of being shipwrecked. “I suspect we are. Farewell.”

“Panehedan, human.”

Nothing sounded better than stopping at the Hanged Man to enjoy a few rounds with her brother and her companions, but Hawke had work to do yet. She trooped back up to Hightown.

“I solved your problem,” Hawke said in greeting to Hubert.

“So, what happened?” Hubert asked. “One of the miners told me you rescued him from dragons!” He gave a laugh. “I cuffed him for lying!”

“Well he wasn’t.” Hawke said frankly. “Go there and see the corpses for yourself.”

“But…I thought they were extinct?” Hubert stammered. “I believe _you_. You made them extinct again? If it is safe, the miners can return to work.”

“I got all the dragons,” Hawke said. “It should be safe enough for now.”

“Let us discuss your payment, then,” Hubert said. “You have been a great help.” He rubbed his chin. “Since you did so much more than I was expecting, how about we work together? I am offering a fifty-fifty share in the mine. You will make us both rich if you can keep your countrymen safe.”

“Why would you share half your business with me?” Hawke asked.

“I spent a decade honing my business instincts in Val Royeaux,” Hubert explained. “I once sold a seat cushion to Empress Celene!” Hawke stared at him, unimpressed, and Hubert deflated a little. “Simply put, I have a good feeling about you. So what do you say?”

“Seems like the miners _could_ use protection, _and_ an advocate,” Hawke admitted.

Hubert nodded happily. “So, to our first order of business: we replace the lost workers. I will hire new hands. Plenty of desperate Fereldans out there, but it will take some time.” He missed Hawke’s eyes narrowing. “I need you to convince the surviving miners to return. They are holed up in Lowtown. Tell them the Bone Pit is safe again.”

“I’m headed that way anyway.”

—ROTC—

_Fenris  
"Even those who live without chains are still bound: by fear, by tradition, by honor. Slaves dream of freedom, but I have found free men dream of it even more."_

_Fenris was a slave—a bodyguard to Magister Danarius of the Tevinter Imperium—until his escape several years ago. He speaks little of his past, saying only that he most recently came to Kirkwall from Tantervale in the north. The markings on his skin are akin to runecrafting: made of lyrium and ink, they suffuse Fenris's flesh with a power even he does not fully understand. The process of their creation was painful, and in unguarded moments, Fenris attempts to control the agony that lingers still. Even so, the markings enhance his fighting skill and have made him a unique and formidable warrior._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.


	10. Disappearances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and company get into some more trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_The Raiders of the Waking Sea  
The Raiders of the Waking Sea—or simply, the Raiders—is the common name given to an association of Antivan pirates called the Felicisima Armada. These pirates were once little more than opportunists, based out of the coastal city of Llomerryn, that preyed on sea traffic. They were often targeted by Orlesian and Free Marcher cities that were bent on destroying the pirates once and for all. After each such effort, new pirates would appear to fill the vacuum._

_During the New Exalted Marches, the nations of Thedas needed every ship they could muster against the massive power of the Qunari dreadnoughts. The Llomerryn pirates were faced with a difficult decision: they had to band together under one flag and fight with those they had previously preyed upon or face conversion and annihilation by the Qunari._

_Thus the Armada was formed. The pirates brought their knowledge of stealth and trickery to bear, plaguing Qunari supply lines and even launching seaborne invasions against the Qunari coast. For a time it was said the Armada was the premier naval power of Thedas, and after the signing of the Llomerryn Accord, they maintained their association rather than disband as many had hoped._

_Wealthy merchants now often pay the leaders of the Armada rather than risking their ships commandeered and their merchandise stolen and sold on the black market. The Armada is hardly unified, and bloody battles between Armada leaders are frequent, but when faced with an attack by outsiders, the group instantly puts aside their differences and closes ranks; the raiders have thus become far more of a threat in the last century than they ever were before._

_There is many a legend told about how dashing and romantic life aboard a Raider vessel is, but don't believe it. They are scoundrels and smugglers all._

_—From The Dowager's Field Guide to Good Society, by Lady Alcyone_

—ROTC—

Hawke found Aveline waiting on one of the terraces off the Hightown market, leaning against the wall with an irritated look on her face. “He’s over there,” she sighed, jerking a thumb at a man who was arguing with two guards. “That’s Ghyslain.”

Ghyslain de Carrac was a short man with a thick Orlesian accent and a thicker beard. “This is a domestic matter, Serah. If your wife has chosen to leave you, there’s nothing we can do,” one of the guards was saying.

“Ninette is my wife!” Ghyslain insisted. “She’s legally bound to me! Bring her back!”

The guard just shook his head. “We’re done here,” he announced.

Ghyslain threw up his hands in frustration as the guards left. “Useless! Why are we still paying those sluggards?”

“I happen to like being paid,” Hawke said. “Pay me instead.”

“If you can find Ninette, I will gladly pay you.” He shook his head. “That foolish woman has caused me nothing but embarrassment! She needs to be dragged home! Her family is getting suspicious,” he admitted. “They think I might have…done something to her. Even if – well, I just want to make sure they know I didn’t do it!”

Hawke was incredulous. “You’re more concerned what her family thinks than what happened to her?”

Ghyslain grumbled. “Ninette keeps the company of other men, and makes no secret of it! I’d be better off with her gone. As long as her family knows I have nothing to do with it. They’d ruin me otherwise.”

“I can’t imagine why she’d leave you,” Hawke said acidly. “You’re such a prize.”

Ghyslain bowed his head a moment, chagrined. “It wasn’t always like this,” he said softly. “We were in love once. She defied her parents to marry me.” He sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if I dreamed those years.”

“Do you think she might be in trouble?” Hawke asked.

Whatever remorse he might have felt vanished in an instant. “It’s her own doing,” Ghyslain spat, “gallivanting about with men half her age! Bah, she’s just trying to show me I am tied to her purse strings!”

“How long has your wife been gone?” Hawke asked.

“About a month.” Hawke’s jaw dropped. “I wasn’t worried at first,” Ghyslain said defensively. “She’s run off before. Ninette is uncontrollable, you see. She comes and goes as she pleases.”

“I’ll try my best to find Ninette,” Hawke said. “If she doesn’t want to return, I won’t force her back.”

Ghyslain grunted. “Good enough. You should talk to Jethann at the Blooming Rose. I didn’t know she visited whores. Until Jethann sent a letter. To our house! He even sent her flowers once. Lilies – her favorite.”

“Do you actually think you can find Ninette?” Aveline asked as they walked away.

“It’s been a month,” Hawke replied. “The trail is cold. But I’ll try.”

The Blooming Rose stank like perfume and incense and sex, and someone was tunelessly picking at a lute in the corner. Hawke considered herself lucky to have rarely had reason to step into the Rose before, but she knew the place well enough to spot Madame Lusine, who could point her in the right direction.

Jethann turned out to be an elf with red hair and laughing eyes. “Today’s my rest day,” he said as he opened the door, looking them up and down, “but I’ll make an exception for _you_.”

Hawke grinned. “I’m flattered.”

“What can I say?” Jethann said, pushing the door open wider. “Why work if you’re not working _hard_?”

Jethann’s room had a bed and little else, about what Hawke would expect in a brothel, and Hawke watched as Jethann leaned against the mantle, watching them. “Have you seen Ninette lately?” Hawke asked.

The elf’s brow furrowed. “Ninette? Not for several weeks, which is a shame. I enjoy her company. I hear she finally left her worthless husband. Good for her.” He sighed. “I just wish she’d said goodbye.”

Hawke frowned. Ninette might have left without saying goodbye, but more and more people were seeming surprised by her vanishing. “Did Ninette tell you she left her husband?”

“No,” Jethann admitted with a shrug. “I just hope that’s what she did. Ghyslain only wants her for her family’s wealth. But Ninette’s a jewel. Elegant, worldly, just the perfect level of depraved. Ghyslain doesn’t deserve her.”

“Speaking of which, Ghyslain knew about you and Ninette. Did he talk to you?” Hawke asked. Something instinctual was prodding at her, warning her there was more here to see.

“The man is _incapable_ of talking,” Jethann scoffed. “He came here, yelled at me, called me a dirty knife-ear, among other things, and accused me of corrupting his wife. We had him thrown out.”

“Well, Ninette’s been missing for a month now,” Hawke said. “Do you think she could have come to harm?”

“I hope not,” Jethann said with a frown. “Everyone loves Ninette. Sometimes twice a night.” He chuckled at his own joke. “Ghyslain’s the only one who might hurt her. And he doesn’t have the balls for it.”

Hawke frowned, seeing their only lead as a dead end. “Do you have any idea where she might be?”

“Well,” Jethann said. “There was someone else looking for Ninette.” Hawke raised an eyebrow. “A Templar. I believe his name was Emeric. He wouldn’t sleep with me either. I can’t see why a Templar would be interested in anyone who isn’t a mage.”

Hawke exchanged a glance with Anders. Templars were trouble, no matter what the situation. “Any chance Ninette’s an apostate?” she asked, eyes narrow.

Jethann gave a short laugh. “Well, she certainly cast a spell on me. If Ninette was a mage, I think Emeric would have said so.”

“He would have wanted you to keep an eye out for her,” Anders said. “Curious.”

“Someone else Ninette spent special alone time with, perhaps?” Hawke suggested.

Jethann just grinned back. “She always liked men in uniform,” he said. “You could ask him yourself. Emeric said he’d continue his investigation in Darktown. You could see if he’s still there. And if you find Ninette, tell her to drop by and see me sometime.”

“Ninette has the money to leave Kirkwall if she wished,” Hawke said as they left the Rose. “There has to be some reason that this Templar was chasing her.”

“Finding a Templar in Darktown wouldn’t be too difficult,” Anders said. “But taking us all down there would be a bad idea.”

“Agreed,” Hawke sighed. “Three mages finding a Templar? Why not just go to the Gallows and make it quick? This is starting to sound like a job for a guardsman, Aveline.”

“Hawke, I’m not guard captain _yet_, not officially,” Aveline protested. “I can’t just order them into Darktown to find this Templar.”

Hawke grimaced. “So we get to go rooting around in there, is it? Why would she go to Darktown if she was just running away?”

“I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we? Do you want me to go tell the Templars that one of their men is missing, have them rooting around in Darktown instead? You want me to make it abundantly clear the guard can’t handle this?”

Hawke gave an irritated roll of her eyes. The most significant military force within Kirkwall was the Templars, and everyone knew it. Since the coup against Viscount Threnhold a decade before, Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard had seen to it that the city itself was hamstrung both militarily and politically. The ten years since had seen the weakest and most corrupt city guard, and now Aveline was the latest heir to the mess. “Fine,” she finally said. “We need Varric, and Carver for certain. Anders, can you see Merrill home, and meet us at your clinic?” The healer nodded, and the two mages moved off through Hightown.

—ROTC—

Darktown was no place for a noblewoman, Hawke thought as they cut past people selling stolen goods. She, Fenris, and Aveline had dragged Varric, Carver, and Isabela away from their drinks and picked up Anders at his clinic.

Varric’s lead took them down into the old tunnels that managed to be below Darktown proper, and Hawke moved forward slowly, peering into the muddy darkness. The corridors were stone, carved from the earth itself as mining tunnels, and lanterns cast dim light across the narrow corridors. The air stank of unwashed bodies and despair.

“This is _our_ territory,” a gang leader was saying. “We don’t want no Templars.”

“Carta,” Varric warned. “That must be Emeric.”

Hawke swallowed hard. If Emeric died here, the investigation would die with him. If they intervened, Hawke and Anders would have to do it without using magic, and getting hurt for a Templar’s sake was far down Hawke’s to-do list.

“Anders, hang back,” Hawke said softly, wary that a whisper could carry farther than a low voice. “Everyone else, let’s…” The words stuck in her throat. “Save the Templar.”

Compared to the dragon, a half-dozen Carta thugs was an easy fight, especially once Emeric joined the fight. He was old for a Templar, his hair turning silver and face lined with age. “I thank you, Serrah, for coming along when you did,” he said softly. “I am Emeric.”

“Just the person I was looking for,” Hawke said. “I need to speak with you about Ninette.”

“Ah, yes. Ghyslain de Carrac’s wife. Her disappearance interested me. I tried looking into it. However, the investigation has been a waste of time.”

Hawke tilted her head slightly. “A waste of time in that you learned nothing, or that you found that she’s just fine?”

“Most people just say she left her husband,” Emeric replied. “This all started when Mharen, one of our Circle Mages, disappeared. I found it odd. She was a bit older, and hardly adventurous. Then I heard about Ninette and two other missing women.”

“And you have doubts they merely fled,” Aveline said. One woman was an incident. Four was a pattern.

“A woman goes missing and you’ll either never find her, or you’ll just find her body,” Isabela said. Her voice was cold, but there was fire in her eyes, and it wasn't from the lantern on the wall nearby.

“I hope you’re wrong, madam,” Emeric said. “I think the disappearances are connected, and I suspect foul play is involved.”

“Mages routinely flee the Circle,” Hawke pointed out. “Perhaps Mharen just wanted freedom?”

Emeric shook his head. “She had always been loyal,” he said. “She received lilies from an unknown suitor, and some of us thought she may have gone to meet him. Perhaps her disappearance is linked.”

Anders had been frowning since Hawke ordered them to save Emeric. “Doesn’t the Circle use phylacteries to keep track of its mages?” He asked carefully.

“We followed her phylactery to a foundry, but found nothing,” Emeric said. “I had heard of sympathizers smuggling mages through Darktown, so came here hoping to pick up the trail. But no trace of Mharen. And as you’ve seen, asking the locals hasn’t made me very popular.”

“Have you mentioned any of this to the city guard?” Aveline asked.

“They say there’s no proof the disappearances are connected,” Emeric said coldly. “They think the women just left home, that it happens all the time.”

“People don’t just disappear,” Isabela said. “They may have been murdered or kidnapped.”

“We found no bodies, no ransom notes. Those women just vanished.”

“Can I assist your investigation?” Hawke asked.

“It’s no longer my investigation, serah,” Emeric said. “But you may take over, if you wish. “This fight showed that I’m no longer the warrior I used to be. I know when to walk away.” He reached into his armor, pulling several notes and handing them over. “Take my findings. Perhaps you can make more use of them. I’m going back to the Gallows. I’m too old for this.”

“A foundry in Lowtown,” Hawke said, looking at the address. “We should look into that.”

“I’m not sure whether to be happy or not that he’s just giving up,” Anders said. “We don’t need a Templar around, but just giving up on some missing people like that…”

It was dark by the time they emerged into Lowtown. In the daytime the foundries belched smoke, and at night a haze hung over the district. The streets were deserted, with few exceptions.

One of which was a Chantry sister who appeared to be walking alone up along the lane. A man emerged from the shadows wearing mercenary armor, and the sister spoke. “Coin for skill on offer. I need someone of…flexible talents and secrecy.”

The pair exchanged a few words, and then he motioned to her, gesturing her towards an alley. “Can you get this deep into Lowtown and be that stupid?” Isabela asked.

“Can you save someone so intent on being foolish?” Hawke replied, sighing. “Come on. We have to go past them anyway.”

A half-dozen street thugs barely put up a fight against the group, and as Fenris wiped the leader’s blood from his sword, the sister approached them. “Thank you for your timely intervention. I am…out of my element.” The woman’s voice was soft and graceful, but there was a look in her eyes that put Hawke on edge.

“A foolish risk in Lowtown at this time of night,” Hawke replied.

“I had to come here, to get the type of person I need. Someone of bloody skill but also integrity. Perhaps the kind who might leap to someone’s defense?”

“How do I wind up involved in these things?” Hawke asked nobody in particular.

“I have a charge who needs passage from the city,” the Chantry Sister said softly. “If you are willing and capable, there is a safe place we can meet.”

“You make a lot of assumptions,” Hawke said. “It almost got you killed already.”

“All the more reason to end this quickly,” the sister replied. “You must need coin. Everyone here does. Varnell!”

Hawke glanced back, seeing a Templar coming up behind them. “Not so helpless, I see.”

“I hope you will come,” the woman said simply, sliding a slip of paper into Hawke’s hand, the address of a Lowtown house. “This matter only grows more urgent with time.” She strode off into the darkness, the Templar close behind her.

“We have had _far _too many dealings with Templars lately,” Hawke commented as they moved deeper into the foundry district. “Who could the _Chantry _be trying to smuggle out of the city?”

“They might be trying to entrap us,” Anders offered.

“Or it could be on the level,” Hawke replied. “If nothing else, we can check it out when we’re done in the foundry.”

The foundry Emeric had given them the address for was close by, and Varric picked the lock, the door creaking open. The smelters were cold, the forges dead.

And someone was watching them. Hawke’s eyes narrowed, and she scanned the walkways above the main floor. There! In the shadows, a figure darted into the depths of the foundry. “Did you all see that?”

“I saw it,” Varric said. “Not sure what I saw, but I saw it.”

“Spread out, but be careful.” They made it barely ten steps before a slew of shades and demons arose from the dust on the floor, and the fight was on. With no witnesses, Hawke and Anders unleashed their magic, and the group tore into the demons. When the last one fell, they stormed up the stairs, but the man was gone. All they found instead, in one of the back chambers, was a blood-soaked satchel.

Hawke gingerly opened the satchel. “That ring looks Orlesian,” Anders said softly.

“I don’t know about the disappearances being connected,” Hawke said, “but there’s definitely something going on. Aveline, the guard _needs _to look into this.”

“I’ll have this place searched,” Aveline replied. “But I don’t think we’ll find anything good.”

Hawke looked at the bloody ring in her hand. “I know. This looks like a noble sigil. It’s probably Ninette’s.”

“Which means those bones are probably hers too,” Fenris said. “I had hoped…”

“A severed hand, a ring, and a pile of bones,” Hawke said. “Emeric will want to see this, and I should bring the ring to Ghyslain.”

Carver sighed. “Well, now we can find out what that Chantry sister wants.”

The Templar Varnell was waiting for them with a sword drawn when they entered the house. “I _am _expected,” Hawke said.

The Templar looked to the sister, who nodded, before sheathing his sword. “I thank you for coming,” the sister said. “This matter is…delicate, and I need someone of limited notoriety who will not link this to me. It is an escort, but I think you will agree, the nature of the party makes this…unique.”

“If this is criminal, I already have enough trouble,” Hawke said tiredly.

“I should think you’re about to have more,” the sister replied. “I am Sister Petrice. This is my burden of charity.” A looming figure stepped into the room, and Hawke took a step back.

It was a Qunari, yet…different from the others she had seen in the city. The Qunari she had seen wore leather breeches and boots, warpaint, and little else. This Qunari, however, bore a massive collar around its shoulders and neck, with great chains binding the collar to a similar band around its waist. Thick manacles were around the Qunari’s wrists, and a thick mask that looked to be made of bronze was over its eyes. Its mouth was sewn shut. The creature was effectively bound, blinded, and silenced.

“Maker…” Aveline breathed.

“Would even a Templar bind a mage like this?” Petrice asked. “A survivor of infighting with their Tal-Vashoth outcasts. I call him ‘Ketojan,’ a bridge between worlds. The Viscount, and others, feel that peace begins with appeasement. This mage would likely be returned to his brutal kin. But he can serve a better purpose. I want him free. He must be guided from the city without alerting his people, or being seen in my care.”

“I’ve had dealings with the Qunari leader,” Hawke said. A dark look flashed across Petrice’s face, almost too quickly to catch in the dim light. “He’d want to know of this.”

“You…have dealt with their leader?” Petrice asked carefully. “If you have interacted with Qunari, you know how they treat those who leave their heathen order. The Arishok would doom this poor creature. But knowing them is useful. If they challenged you, attacking an ally would only confirm their barbarism. You are still right for the task.”

“Calling us allies of the Qunari is being a bit generous,” Hawke said. “I’ve spoken with the Arishok and lived to tell the tale. That’s about it.” She looked at the bound Qunari again. “You don’t just stumble on someone like this.”

“This is a _sarebaas_,” Fenris said darkly. “One of the Qunari’s mages.”

“For all their blasphemous certainty,” Petrice said, “the Qunari do have deserters. Those who seek freedom are hunted mercilessly.”

“Tal-Vashoth,” Hawke said. “They seem to accept the role.” She refrained from mentioning that her dealings with the Qunari involved hunting their deserters.

“Even their rebels conform,” Petrice said. “Ser Varnell observed one of their bloody exchanges. This poor mage was the only survivor.”

Hawke looked at the silent specter again, looming over the conversation. “And you think this mage was being hunted?”

“I am certain no thinking creature would willingly submit to this. If he was not running before, he has seized the opportunity now.”

“Then why not use Chantry resources?” Hawke asked. “Why go to all this risk?”

“My order will soon realize the Qunari presence is more than a test of faith – it is an open challenge. But for now, I must act on my own. Helping this mage shows how Qunari heresy cannot be ignored. His flight is vital.”

“Is freedom so helpful? A new life with that collar seems doubtful,” Hawke remarked.

“And yet it is more than he has,” Petrice replied. “My reach is limited. His struggle is his own.”

Hawke shrugged. “It just seems like releasing a bird, cage and all.”

“We do what we can to step toward what is right,” Petrice insisted. “That must be enough.”

Hawke looked at the Qunari one more time. In another life, another time, it could have been her, or Anders, or even Merrill in his place. Eyes masked, lips sewn shut, bound under chains.

How could she deny him – or anyone – a chance at freedom?

“We can get him out of Kirkwall,” Hawke said finally. “He’s a bit conspicuous for the streets, however, and it’ll be light soon.”

“This mage will be a fine example of how cruel Qunari are, even to their own,” Petrice declared. “But only if this plays out just so.” She gestured to a trapdoor in the floor. “This passage leads to the warrens of the Undercity. It is dangerous, but that is why you were hired. Good luck.”

However the house had been linked to the Undercity, the passage worked, and the group cut through the sewers, moving silently through the dim tunnels until they were accosted by a group of thugs.

“Ah,” their leader said. “Look at this. The Undercity is feared by all, but there’s no shortage of fools with coin looking to test it.” He looked at Ketojan. “What’s this thing? Collared like a dog lord’s bitch?” He glared at Hawke. “You some sort of Qunari lover? Maybe I should get rid of you, see who will pay the most for your pet.”

Ketojan gave a low growl, and Hawke glanced over, unused to hearing such noises from things with two legs and no tail. “I don’t think he likes you threatening its master,” one of the other thugs said. “Maybe we let these ones pass?”

“Do everyone a favor and listen to your friend,” Hawke warned.

“And let you lot make a holiday of the last free place in Kirkwall?” The man spat. “Tax it up like even Lowtown?” He reached for a dagger at his belt. “I’ll cut you up and save the biggest piece for your pet.”

There was a crack, and Hawke stumbled back as Ketojan blew the man off his feet with a blast of raw force. Hawke shook her head, her ears ringing simply from being close to the spell when it went off.

“By the Void!” One of the thugs cried from the floor. “Kill it! Kill them all!”

Anders was quicker on the draw than Hawke was, but Ketojan moved faster than any of them, blowing most of the men across the tunnel with a single fireball. He followed up with more fireballs, and in seconds the thugs had been annihilated. Hawke grabbed the Qunari by the arm. “The danger has passed, Ketojan. Calm yourself!”

The Qunari growled unintelligibly. “Did you react because your lead was threatened?” Another growl. “How much of this is just blind instinct, I wonder,” Hawke muttered. “You can’t gesture or ‘stomp your feet twice for yes’ or something?” Another growl, shorter this time.

“The sister has assumed a great deal from a few grunts and twitches,” Aveline commented dryly.

“Just keep control, and remember who is on your side,” Hawke said gently. Ketojan grunted. “Of course. I expected no different.”

The path was clear from then on, Hawke leading them through the Undercity and the smuggler’s tunnels until daylight became visible and they emerged onto the Wounded Coast.

Right next to a group of Qunari. “Well, shit,” Varric muttered. “I saw _that _coming.”

“I knew something was wrong,” Hawke said. “We’ve been set up.”

“Any chance we can just sneak away?” Isabela suggested.

“Considering the big one’s looking right at us, I’d say no,” Hawke said lightly.

One of the Qunari stepped forward. Hawke pegged him as the apparent leader, judging by the fact that he was wearing the first real armor Hawke had seen on a Qunari besides the Arishok, pauldrons and a proper helmet with a face mask of horizontal bars.

“Any insights, Fenris?” Hawke asked quietly.

“Shanedan,” the elf greeted.

The Qunari scowled, holding up a hand to halt their advance. “You will hold, basra vashedan. I am Arvaarad, and I claim possession of Saarebas at your heel.” There was a tense moment where no one spoke. The Qunari spoke again, as if to press his case. “The members of his karataam were killed by Tal-Vashoth, but their disposal leads only here, to Saarebas, and you.”

“I just got here, coming from the other way,” Hawke protested. “If there was a trail, I didn’t leave it.”

“Yet you are here, with Saarebas,” Arvaarad said. “The crime is his freedom, his leash held by unknowing basra. We will not allow that danger to continue. Let your own mages doom you – Saarebas will be properly confined.”

Hawke could see the chance that this would end in any way but a fight slipping away. “And if he doesn’t want to go back?”

Avaarad looked to Ketojan. “Saarebas! Show that your will remains bound to the Qun.” Ketojan immediately dropped to his knees, head bowed. “He has only followed you because he wants to be led. He is allowed no other purpose.”

“You don’t care that someone abused your dead to get you here?” Hawke asked.

“No doubt they were cast from your shoulders as you or your partner thieves grew weak,” Arvaarad said darkly. “It is a crime whose victims are beyond caring. It will be dealt with, but the greater threat is clear. It is my role to secure Saarebas. It is the role of another to purge the perversions of your kind.”

Hawke set her jaw. “He is bound and abused, and you want him caged. Why?”

“The power that he has, that all Saarebas have, draws from chaos and demons. They can never be in control.”

“So you fear them,” Hawke surmised.

“Like so many others,” Anders sighed.

“We leash Saarebas because they are dangerous and contagious,” Arvaarad said, drawing some sort of bronze rod lined with runes. The Qunari mage was forced to all fours, an electric crackling sounding as the mage grunted. “Not even your Templars fully grasp that threat.”

“Our mages have given you no reason to fear them yet,” Hawke said. Instantly, she knew she had gone too far.

“You waste your breath,” Anders said. “He’ll never tolerate my kind.”

“You…are Saarebas?” Arvaarad said. “Bas Saarebas?” He spun on his heel to address the other Qunari.

“Oh, _shit_,” Carver breathed.

“Vashedan!” Arvaarad bellowed. “Nehraa sataa karasaam!” He turned back to them to take a fireball to the chest from Hawke, and Anders began weaving magic, a massive lightning storm exploding into existence over the group of dazed Qunari a moment later.

It was over in moments, and Anders quenched the tempest, lightning bleeding off his staff into the ground. “Who’s out of control now?” He asked coldly. Only Ketojan – the Saarebas, Hawke thought – remained, and the mage grunted, pointing at the rod the Arvaarad had dropped. Hawke picked it up, turning it over in her hands. A moment later, something popped in the air, and the Qunari mage stood.

And spoke. “I am…unbound,” he said, voice raspy as if unused for too long. “Odd. Wrong. But you deserve honor. You are now Basvaarad, worthy of following.” Hawke swallowed, disliking any Qunari title after what she had seen in the past few minutes. “I thank your intent, even if it was wrong. I know the will of Arvaarad. I must return as demanded. It is the wisdom of the Qun.”

He began walking towards an overlook, away from the dead Qunari. “So after all this, you want to die?” Hawke asked, following him. Carver was close behind her, his blade still drawn.

“I do not want to die,” he told her. “I want to live, by the Qun.”

“Which means dying,” Hawke said acidly.

“Could you have returned if I’d let these others live?” Hawke asked.

“No.”

“You were doomed from the start?”

“I was outside my karataam. I may be corrupted. I cannot know. How I return is my choice.”

“If you were ‘corrupted,’ you _would _know,” Anders protested. “Of all the ridiculous, spineless, mind-controlled, senseless piece of shit arguments I’ve ever heard!”

“What comfort has freedom brought you, mage?” Saarebas asked, looking out over the Wounded Coast. “You would have more if you submitted to the Qun.”

“I’ll take uncertainty over what you have,” Anders said flatly. “There are always tests. Your lack of will does not reflect on our freedom. Existing is _not_ a choice!”

“It is the _only_ choice. Asit tal-eb. It is to be.” He turned slightly, still not properly looking back at them. “The sister was not honest. I know not what she wanted, but it was certainty not of the Qun. And her guard smelled of death.”

“You’re choosing death,” Hawke pleaded. “You seem so certain that that is the only way, but you’re wrong!”

“Certainty is comfort. That is the way of the Qunari. The way of the Qun.” He raised his arms, and flames blazed to life, consuming the Saarebas.

—ROTC—

“Leave nothing,” Petrice was saying to Varnell as Hawke reentered the house. “It must be clean with no ties.” She spotted Hawke, and her face tightened. “You return. You took the Qunari from the city? Without incident?”

“You know what we faced,” Aveline snapped.

“Mind your tongue, Fereldan,” Varnell shot back.

“Please, do speak your mind,” Petrice said.

“The bodies of the mages karaatam led right to us,” Hawke said. “Why?”

“You come back speaking their language and think to lecture me?” Petrice spat. “If such a plot existed, if the Qunari had murdered you for trying to help their slave mage, then yes, someone might have found that useful. It would have cast doubt on appeasement. Perhaps your death would have been a tragic necessity. Perhaps finding the mage was a rushed opportunity. But all we have now are dead Qunari and the word of a sympathizer.”

“And the Kirkwall Guard Captain,” Aveline said dryly.

“Do not think your power extends that far,” Petrice said coldly. “The Chantry would never allow one of their own to be arrested.”

“If? Perhaps?” Hawke echoed. “Why dance around this lie?”

“If a member of the Chantry admitted instigation, I have no doubt it would result in more appeasement,” Petrice lectured. “But an accusation from a Lowtown thug, even backed by the foreign Guard Captain? You are hardly that important. That’s not an insult – it’s why I chose you. Rest assured, excuses, real or imagined, are hardly for your benefit.”

“We won’t forget this, Sister,” Hawke warned.

“Take your coin,” Petrice said, dropping a sack on the floor. “Disappear back into Lowtown. Rest assured I will not make the mistake of looking for help outside the faithful again. The stakes – eternity – are just too high.” The pair departed the house, leaving nothing but the coin to mark their ever having been there.

“That one will be back,” Isabela predicted. “Unfortunately.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Hawke said, picking up the sack and examining the hefty amount of coin inside. “We need to speak to Emeric.”

—ROTC—

_The Bone Pit  
Sire,_

_I interviewed the surviving slave this morning. She was horror-struck, but managed to tell me her chilling story._

_The Overseer lined seventeen slaves up, one behind the other, at the lip of the quarry. The second slave in line was ordered to push the man in front over the edge. The third slave pushed the second, the fourth the third, and on it went._

_Workers in the quarry heard the screams, the crack of bone against rock, and then the survivor's anguished cries as the Overseer's dragonlings feasted on the sixteen helpless bodies splayed upon the quarry's basin. The woman who told me this story was the seventeenth in line, spared only because no one stood behind her._

_Sire, I recommend we stop this ugly practice. Effective as it may be in motivating workers, it's also bringing our mine notoriety as a death trap. Stories of the "bone pit" swirl throughout Kirkwall. The Veil is thin enough here, and above that pit it is practically ready to sunder. We risk more than simple rebellion should the overseer be allowed to continue._

_—A letter from Prefex Santarius, 35 Ancient_

_Prefex Santarius,_

_The output of the Maharian Quarry is up almost a third this season, and the Overseer has received a commendation from the archon himself. You will speak of your findings to no one._

_—A response from Magister Quillan, 35 Ancient_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.


	11. Vanishing Templars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody want to tell me why Hawke is tracking missing Templars?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Kirkwall - The Gallows  
Statues of tortured slaves fill the Gallows courtyard, a ghastly memento of Kirkwall's history. Fifteen-hundred years ago, Kirkwall was the Tevinter Imperium's largest quarry, feeding the construction of the Imperial Highway._

_The Imperium's hunger for expansion led to legions of slaves forced into working the quarry. When the empire's construction phase ended, Kirkwall slid naturally into its new role as the capital of the slave trade—the Gallows at its heart._

_The statues are not monuments to the suffering of slaves. Every inch and angle of the courtyard was designed by magisters bent on breaking the spirit of newcomers. Executions here took place daily, sometimes hourly, and corpses were hung from gibbets throughout the yard. New slaves trudging in from the docks saw what awaited them._

_When Our Lady turned her armies against the Imperium, the slaves of Kirkwall revolted and claimed the city for themselves. The Gallows stood empty for two hundred years, not to be reopened until the crowning of Divine Justinia I. The Gallows transformed the city again when the abandoned prison tower became the home of Kirkwall's Circle._

_—From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi_

—ROTC—

Fenris paused as they crested the stairs to the Gallows. “I’ve…heard about the Circle of Magi outside of the Imperium, but I’ve never been in one,” he admitted. “Are you certain it’s wise for you to be here?”

“Not at all,” Hawke said. “But we’ll be cautious.”

Fenris nodded. “This seems more like a prison. I wonder if it’s more effective than the Circle I know.”

“How is the Imperial Circle of Magi different?” Hawke asked.

“Once upon a time it was as it is here,” Fenris explained. “The Chantry watched the magisters closely for any signs of corruption or weakness. Then it changed. The magisters were permitted to watch over their own, and Templars kept only to enforce the law. What happened next was inevitable. The magisters rule again, as powerful as they ever were.”

“You’re saying the same thing could happen here?” Hawke asked.

“If the mages were permitted to be their own watchers? Of course.” Fenris’s eyes darkened. “It is too easy for a mage to resort to blood magic if they feel the need is great enough.”

“As easy as it is to resort to a sword,” Anders shot back. “You were created as a living weapon. Should you not be trusted with your freedom?”

“My powers are not controlled by a demon,” Fenris said loftily.

“Neither are mine,” Hawke replied.

“A mage can desire power, justice, revenge, protection…” Fenris shook his head. “Any cause will do, and then they are lost.”

“You’re saying that locking mages up is better?” Hawke asked. “You’re giving them that cause.”

“All I am saying is the Imperium offers no answer,” Fenris said. “All that Andraste did long ago to end the tyranny of magic has been undone.”

“She ended the tyranny of magic and replaced it with an entirely new one,” Anders insisted. “Tevinter’s crime is its slavery, not its free magic.”

“Considering all that magic has done to my homeland and my race, I weep for your predicament,” Fenris said dryly. “Power corrupts, as they say, and mages have power enough already.”

“It stings a little to know you think so little of me,” Hawke said softly. “According to everything I’ve seen, the Circle can’t control mages anyhow.”

“And what is the alternative?” Fenris asked rhetorically. “Freedom is a noble ideal, but I see no oppression here. I see fear…and danger. But enough. I’m sure we came here for a reason.”

“That we did,” Hawke sighed, spotting Emeric. She hefted the satchel that had been hanging from her belt ever since the foundry. “Emeric. You might want to see this.” She handed over the satchel, and Emeric gingerly opened it. “I was also attacked by shades.”

“These are human bones,” Emeric said darkly, sighing. “Then there is no chance of finding Mharen alive, or any of the others.”

“I saw someone leaving the scene, but they got away,” Hawke said. “I’m sorry.”

“It was more than I accomplished,” Emeric replied.

“My people have been slow to react, but this needs official support,” Aveline said.

“I will bring this to the city guard immediately,” Emeric promised. “It should be enough to convince them the disappearances are worth investigating.”

As they headed for the ferry, Hawke tried to avoid notice by the Templar standing nearby, who was in turn studiously ignoring a despondent woman who was trying to talk to him. Hawke passed close enough to catch her attention, and the woman rounded on her. “Please, can you help me? My brother!”

“What happened to your brother?” The Templar took the opportunity to march away, and Hawke's lip curled in disgust. _Protectors of the innocent, indeed_.

“My name is Macha,” the woman said. “Keran was always so devout, so idealistic. He was so proud when the Templars accepted him. I pleaded with him not to join the Order, but he wouldn't listen. You hear dark rumors about the Templars and Knight-Commander Meredith. And now my brother is gone.”

“Meredith's a nut,” Hawke said quietly. “Everything I've heard tells me she sees demons everywhere, whether they're there or not. Templars threaten passers-by and interrogate them. People harboring escaped mages just vanish. Your brother made a poor choice in joining the Order, unless he was looking to brutalize mages. What happened?”

“Keran would write every day. Then suddenly, no more letters. I wrote him many times with no response. I tried to see him, but Knight-Commander Meredith threw me out. They won't tell me anything!”

“Templars don't just disappear,” Hawke said with a straight face, wondering if this Keran was one of the Templars they had killed in the Chantry ambush. “Your brother may indeed be in trouble. What can I do for you?”

“Ask the other recruits, Paxley, Ruvena, and Hugh, about my brother.” Macha indicated a group of recruits standing nearby, trying to appear like they weren’t watching them. “They were Keran's closest friends in the Order. If anyone knows where he is, it's them, but they won’t speak to me! Maker bless you and watch over you in this endeavor.”

“Are we really going to mess with Templars?” Carver asked.

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Anders said.

“If Templars are disappearing, I want to know who to thank,” Hawke replied, crossing the Gallows courtyard. “Do you-”

“We cannot speak to you, messere,” one of the recruits said, frowning as she spoke.

“To the Void with that!” Hugh said. “Keran and the others are missing.”

“But our orders!” Paxley protested.

“The knights aren’t doing anything to find them,” Hugh said quietly. “Maybe it’s time to ask for outside help.”

“So Keran _is _missing,” Hawke said. “Who else is gone?”

“The first ones disappeared weeks ago,” Hugh explained. “There’s been at least half a dozen.” Hawke tried not to look relieved at the news that the Templars in question hadn’t gone missing at her hands. “Wilmod and Keran were the most recent.”

“Who ordered you to keep silent about Keran?” Hawke pressed.

“You obviously aren’t a Templar, messere,” Paxley said.

“A knight-lieutenant gives you an order and you obey,” Hugh added. “Without question. They told us not to breathe a word about Keran and the others.”

“They must have their reasons,” Ruvena insisted.

“And that’ll be a great comfort if you go missing next,” Hugh snapped.

“I’m trying to do Keran’s sister Macha a favor here,” Hawke said. “You _can _trust me. Whatever happens, I promise it won’t wash back on you.”

“I hear that Knight-Commander Meredith has some new initiation you have to go through,” Paxley said. “If you’re not strong enough or fervent enough in belief, you don’t make it out alive.”

“Figures,” Anders groused.

“And you honestly believe that?” Ruvena asked.

“Recruits keep going missing,” Hugh pointed out.

“Wilmod came back,” Ruvena shot back.

Hugh’s eyes widened. “What? When?”

Ruvena nodded. “He did. I saw him this morning.”

“What’s this initiation the Knight-Commander has?” Hawke asked.

“You hear about some…questionable things that the Order must do these days,” Paxley said. “The Knight-Commander only wants Templars that can do what must be done.”

“Andraste alive!” Hugh gasped. “She’s killing recruits that might question her orders, isn’t she?”

“That’s rubbish,” Ruvena scoffed. “She wouldn’t do that.”

“Who’s going to stop her?” Hawke asked. “If Wilmod came back, he might know more about the other missing recruits.”

“Wilmod told me he was going outside Kirkwall,” Ruvena said. “To ‘clear his head,’ he said.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this?” Hugh demanded.

“Knight-Captain Cullen ordered it. Right before he chased after Wilmod,” Ruvena said. “That wasn’t too long ago. If you hurry, you may catch them on the road. Take the east gate.”

—ROTC—

“Cullen was a real piece of work,” Anders was saying as they trudged along the east road. “During the uprising at the Fereldan Circle, he tried to have the First Enchanter killed. That he’s been transferred to Kirkwall, of all places…” He shook his head. “It doesn’t bode well.”

“Nothing about Templars or Kirkwall bodes well,” Hawke said, sniffing the air. “I smell a fire. Let’s hope it’s Wilmod.”

They spotted smoke ahead, and an angry voice rent the air. “Andraste be my witness, Wilmod, I will have the truth from you! Now!” A man, presumably the Knight-Captain Cullen, had another Templar who could only be Wilmod by the arms.

“Mercy, Ser! Mercy!” Wilmod pleaded.

Cullen’s face was a mask of disgust as he yanked him closer. “Were it that easy,” he growled.

“Don’t hit me!” Wilmod begged.

Cullen brought his knee up into Wilmod’s groin, below the edge of his breastplate, and dropped the winded Templar to the ground, drawing his sword. “I will know where you’re going, and I will know now!” he spat, staring down the blade.

“I thought Templars only treated mages this badly,” Hawke said dryly. “Nice to see you’re branching out.”

“This is Templar business, stranger,” Cullen blustered.

Hawke was ready to argue further, but Wilmod laughed, his voice high and cold. “You have struck me the last time, you pathetic human. To me!” His body warped, and Varric was already moving, a bolt spearing through the neck of the abomination as it surged forward, knocking Cullen off his feet, seeming to barely notice the injury.

Hawke felt the Veil tensing as the abomination reached the Fade and cursed, knowing that if they didn’t kill the abomination quickly, they would have to kill the Templar after he witnessed them using magic in self-defense.

Carver’s blade flashed, and the abomination reared back as the warrior relieved it of one of its limbs. The Veil went unbreached, and the abomination fell moments later as Isabela’s knives tore into its undefended back.

Carver didn’t sheathe his blade, warily offering a hand to the fallen Templar. “I knew. I _knew_ he was involved in something sinister,” Cullen said as he allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. But this…is it even possible?”

“Looks like he was possessed,” Hawke replied.

“Normally, we only worry that mages will fall victim to possession. I have heard of blood mages, or demons in solid form, who could summon others into unwilling hosts.” Cullen knelt over the body. “But I had not thought one of our own would be susceptible.”

“He’s dead now,” Hawke said. “Now let’s figure out what happened. Have your crisis of faith later.”

“I have been conducting an investigation of some of our recruits who have gone missing. Wilmod was the first to return. I had hoped to confront him quietly, and out of sight.”

“Confront?” Hawke asked. “Is that what you call beating a man and threatening his life?”

“He had only been back a short time when he left again secretly. It set off some warning bells. I meant to scare him into a confession. He had to believe my threats were genuine.” He stood, not looking at the corpse. “Wilmod has…_had_ never been fully convinced of the Order’s rules. Mages cannot be our friends. They must always be watched.” Hawke kept her face carefully blank. “I thought Wilmod might be meeting with some old friends who’d escaped the Circle.”

“Goody,” Hawke said disinterestedly. “I’m just trying to find Keran for his sister.”

“He also disappeared,” Cullen replied. “They were last seen together at the Blooming Rose. But I had no luck interrogating the, ah, young ladies there. I doubt they know anything of magic or demons.”

“Not the kind you’d be interested in, at any rate,” Isabela said dryly.

“I’ll speak with them,” Hawke said. “You never know how much you can learn from pillow talk.”

“The Order would truly be in your debt if you helped us with this,” Cullen promised. Hawke tried to ignore the bitter taste in her mouth that hearing sentence brought. “No one at the brothel will speak with me for fear I would shut them down for serving our recruits. If you learn what manner of creature did this to Wilmod, please come tell me in the Gallows. I will ensure you are rewarded.”

“I think we’re getting in too deep on this,” Hawke said softly as they left. “But if the Templars are looking this way, they’re not looking at us.”

—ROTC—

The workers from the Bone Pit were busily getting drunk at a pub in Lowtown a few hexes away from the Hanged Man.

“Jansen,” Hawke said, catching the worker’s attention. “Good to see you made it out.”

The man was far cleaner than he had been in the mine, and clearly had had a few. “Hey, it’s the one that rescued me from them dragons! A fellow Fereldan, no less!” He elbowed his friend. “Earl! Eyes on her face, you lush!”

“A thousand thanks for saving Jansen’s worthless hide,” Earl slurred through his mustache.

“Worthless, am I?” Jansen asked. “My farm supplied eggplant to half of South Reach.”

“Yeah?” Earl chuckled. “My eggplant supplied half the bastards in South Reach.” He roared with laughter as Hawke rubbed her forehead.

“You’re a real hero,” Jansen said. “Now, what brings you here?”

“I killed the dragons,” Hawke explained. “It’s safe to return to work.”

“What if there’s more dragons later?” Jansen asked. “Or something worse, like…bigger dragons?”

“I go back to the missus without this job, she’ll rip me apart sure as any dragon!” Earl said.

“What can we do?” Jansen sighed. “That bastard Hubert is the only one willing to hire us.”

“I own half the mine now,” Hawke said. “I’ll keep it safe.”

“Really?” Jansen leaned back, thinking. Or perhaps he was swaying from the alcohol. “Be nice to work for one of our own. If you don’t give us a fair shake, who would?” He gestured to his companions. “Back to work, boys. I’m happy to take more of Hubert’s coin!” The men trooped out, heading back to the quarry.

—ROTC—

Tracking through Hightown towards the Blooming Rose, Hawke found the other man she was looking for. “Ghyslain,” Hawke called.

The man turned at his name. “Ah. What news do you have?” His face darkened at Hawke’s expression. “You found Ninette?”

“This ring is all I have to return to you,” Hawke said softly. “I’m sorry.”

He turned it over in his hand. “Ninette’s wedding ring. Yes. Look at the engraving. ‘Forever faithful, forever yours.’” He sighed. “Written in happier times. Where did you find it?”

Hawke hesitated, and Ghyslain closed his eyes, looking away. “Just know that she will not return,” Hawke finally said.

“Perhaps it is better this way,” Ghyslain said. “Our marriage has been in shambles for more than a decade.” He looked down at the ring. “I’ll send the ring to her family. With luck, it will appease them. Thank you for all your help, serah. Maker watch over you.”

“We can’t win them all, Dana,” Carver said softly as Ghyslain departed.

“Let’s get to that brothel,” Hawke said. “Keep busy and all that.”

“First good idea you’ve had today,” Isabela muttered.

The Rose may have been the most famous brothel in Kirkwall, but it was far from the only one in the Red Lantern District. The smaller, dingier brothels were less likely to let you leave with both your health and wealth, and Hawke gave silent thanks that they were headed for the most reputable whorehouse in the city.

"The difference between whores and courtesans is...well, they have nicer shoes,” Isabela said as they entered the Rose.

“I think your shoes are fine,” Aveline said dryly.

Isabela grinned. “Look at you being funny! That might even get you a man someday.”

“Girls, please,” Hawke sighed. “We’re here on business.”

“You need something, honey?” A woman in cheap silks asked. “I’m Viveka. Madame Lusine is out for the moment.”

“A couple of Templar recruits went missing,” Hawke said. “They were last seen here.”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” the woman said disinterestedly. “We do a lot of…business with the Templars.”

“We have a lot of missing Templars,” Hawke said. “If we don’t act quickly, we may only find corpses.” _Not that I care_, she thought.

“Now, now, no need to get all dramatic on me,” Viveka said. “Who are you looking to track?”

“Wilmod, for starters, but if there’s a Keran in there, that would help too.”

“Let me look through the books,” she said, leafing through the pages. “Wilmod, Keran…” She blinked in surprise. “Here we are. Wilmod came in here _a lot_.” She looked back at them. “You sure he had time to be a Templar?”

“Who did he see?” Hawke pressed.

Viveka traced the line. “Last saw…‘Idunna, the Exotic Wonder from the East.” Her voice was flat.

“That’s quite the stagename,” Hawke said.

“It sounds better than the Tramp from Darktown,” Viveka replied.

“Either way, I’m taking that,” Isabela said.

“Don’t suppose Keran was in there,” Hawke said.

“Idunna again,” Viveka replied, tapping a spot in the book. “But you didn’t hear any of this from me. We clear?”

“Hear any of what from who?” Hawke said innocently. “Have a nice day.”

Idunna was a rather ordinary-looking woman in pink and purple silk, but the instant Hawke met her eyes she knew something was off. The brunette had a coquettish smirk on her face, but her eyes were colder than a Fereldan winter, cold enough that a frisson of fear went down Hawke’s back. Idunna had a look in her eyes that Hawke had seen a few times during her year with Athenril, the look people got not when they had seen too much but when they discovered they _enjoyed_ hurting people.

“Idunna, right?” Hawke asked. “Do you remember entertaining a Templar named Wilmod a few weeks ago? Or a Keran?”

“Wilmod, Wilmod,” Idunna said coyly. “That doesn’t sound familiar.”

“I know he saw you frequently,” Hawke replied flatly.

“With a body like mine, men rarely have time to give me their names,” Idunna said. “They’re too busy doing other things.” She sat down on the bed, patting the cover at her side. “Questions are boring. Why don’t we have some real fun?”

“Hawke, go easy on this lovely…creature,” Varric said.

“You should listen to your friend,” Idunna purred.

“We have to ask her about Keran,” Hawke said, ignoring the thumping in her ears. “What’s your problem?”

“Yes, yes,” Varric said. “But certainly there’s no harm mixing a little business and pleasure?”

“I’m here on business,” Hawke pressed. “Keran. Wilmod.”

“Answer one of my questions first,” Idunna said. “Who told you about little old me?”

Hawke opened her mouth to press her point, but Idunna tilted her head, and Hawke felt something press against her mind. “It was…Viveka,” Hawke slurred out, unable to stop herself, the noise in her ears pounding against her consciousness. “She showed me…her books.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Idunna crooned, barely audible over the pounding in her ears. Darkness swam at the edges of Hawke’s vision. “So Viveka sold me out, did she? That drab, pathetic little sewer-rat. She will be dealt with. Just do one more thing for me.” Her fingers flickered, and Hawke felt herself reaching for her belt, drawing the dagger she kept sheathed there for emergencies. “Draw your blade, and bring it gently across your throat.”

The blade crept higher as Hawke fought it, the edge hovering an inch away from the skin of her throat. “I will not…” Something snapped, and Hawke felt the magic recede like the tide, “be _toyed _with!” Her mind cleared, and Idunna took a half-step back in shock.

“How did you…oh shit!” She fell to her knees as Hawke flipped the dagger over into a reverse grip, glaring icily at her. “Spare me, messere!”

“What foul magic was that?” Hawke demanded.

“Blood and desire, in equal measure. An art I learned from…elsewhere.”

“You’re going to answer all my questions,” Hawke said. “And if there’s even a hint of magic, you’ll be dead before you can regret it.”

“Tarohne put me here. To send biddable Templar recruits to the sanctuary. Three Spear Alley, in the Undercity.” The blasted Undercity. People always disappeared into Darktown. “I enchanted Wilmod and Keran weeks ago. But after they left these walls, I know not what came of them. Please, let me live. It’s not my fault. It was all Tarohne’s idea.”

“Tell me about this Tarohne,” Hawke said.

“She put me up to this. She said we can recreate the ancient Imperium. That mages can rule again, not serve.”

“This base of yours – how many other mages are there? Any other defenses?”

“People go in and out all the time,” Idunna said. “Sometimes a handful, sometimes more. There are traps. Magical traps. There’s a hidden switch at the front – it turns them off. That’s all I know.”

“The Templars are coming for you,” Hawke said. “No more of your tricks.”

“Next stop the sanctuary,” Varric said. “And some answers.”

“Not for you,” Hawke said.

Varric frowned. “You’re taking me out? What, because of that?”

“Of course not,” Hawke replied. “I need you to go get Merrill. We need every fighter we have for this. And if there’s blood magic…”

“She might know how to stop it,” Varric finished. “Right. I’ll meet you outside the sanctuary.” He split off from the group, heading for the Alienage.

“I never expected to be helping the Templars,” Anders muttered as they cut across Hightown.

“Me neither, but if the Knight-Commander hears about blood mages forcing demons into Templars, how many innocent mages are going to pay the price?” Hawke asked.

“Too many,” Anders said darkly. “We’re playing close to the edge here, Hawke.”

“If you are afraid, feel free to leave,” Fenris said.

“Yeah, and then who’s going to heal them when someone gets hurt?” Anders demanded. “You?”

“Look, mage,” Fenris began.

“Enough!” Hawke snapped. “Both of you, knock it off.”

—ROTC—

Darktown always felt wrong, the Veil thinner there than it already was elsewhere in Kirkwall. But a pack of blood mages, loose in Darktown? Hawke had little hope that Keran would be himself, if he was still alive at all.

Varric and Merrill were waiting outside the sanctuary tunnels, a few thugs giving them wary glances as they passed but knowing better than to attack a Dalish elf carrying a staff. “Hawke!” Merrill called in greeting. “Varric came and got me, and told me what’s going on.”

“Good,” Hawke said. “I’m not sure what we’re going to find in there, but I’m quite sure it won’t be anything good. Everyone be alert.”

The sanctuary’s corridors were lined with lanterns, leaving it better lit than most of Darktown, which was typically lit by piles of burning garbage that the lowest levels of Kirkwall used to keep warm.

“Everyone stay still and try not to make any loud noises,” Varric warned. “I can see traps from here.”

“So can I,” Merrill said. “I recognize some of these glyphs. Bindings for demons.”

“Idunna mentioned a hidden switch,” Hawke said. “Varric? Isabela?” Finding the switch only took a few moments, and the glyphs faded from view.

“Bad practice, putting all your traps on one system,” Varric said. “Best to have a second set controlled from elsewhere. Let’s hope they weren’t that smart.”

Luckily for them, Tarohne’s followers appeared to be inexperienced and only had the single, now disarmed, set of traps.

The corridor opened up into a silent chamber, and Hawke signaled her companions, Isabela and Fenris sidling along one wall as Carver and Varric took the other. Aveline took up a rearguard as Anders and Merrill followed Hawke to the central attraction of the room, a young man floating ten feet off the ground in a cage of light.

“How do we get him out of that?” Hawke asked Anders.

The healer stroked his chin. “Depends. You want him alive afterwards?”

“Company,” Varric warned, cocking Bianca. “Tarohne, I presume?”

“How wonderful,” Tarohne crooned. She was accompanied by three other mages who wore cowls. Her eyes were bloodshot and half-focused, and her lips were painted the color of bleached bone. “More vessels for our experiments. Perhaps the demons will find one of you suitable.”

“She must be an abomination, I think,” Carver said.

“I am not some helpless waif that went crying to a demon,” Tarohne spat. “I sought them out and embraced them.”

“Why have you taken these recruits?” Hawke asked.

“Demons can inhabit much more than mages and corpses. With assistance, they can control anyone I ask. Any Templar, any noble, any well-meaning meddler.” Hawke ignored the threat. “We will destroy that pathetic Order. If a few more Templars fall to the demons, we can seed chaos in their ranks. How many abominations can they discover amongst their own before it drives the Knight-Commander crazy?”

“Well, you’d have company at that point,” Hawke said dryly. “And the Knight-Commander taking it out on innocent mages is…what? Collateral damage?”

“In the days of old, the Tevinter Imperium spanned the known world. Demons were their allies, held in check by power and knowledge. With a wave of a hand I could do more than a Templar can achieve in a lifetime. Yet they command us? Absurd! We should be ruling them! We should rule you all!” She reached for her staff, only for Fenris’s fist to erupt from her chest.

“I lived under the rule of magic once,” he snarled, ripping her heart free. “Never again.” The other mages were shocked into momentary inaction by the abruptness of Tarohne’s death, which was all the time it took for Carver and Varric to move. The two were upon the other mages in seconds, Carver’s sword cleaving through one’s midsection as Varric pinioned another and Fenris casually crushed the third’s throat in his fist.

“Well, that was gruesome,” Anders commented, looking at the blood dripping from Fenris’s gauntlets. “Back up, I’ll dispel the cage. There may be some…kickback to it.” It took a few moments for the healer to cast, and the magic unraveled, a burst of light and power flashing outwards as the young man dropped to the ground.

The man stirred slowly, pushing himself to his knees. “Is it…is it over?”

“Keran?” Hawke asked. “Are you Keran?”

“Yes, that’s my name,” Keran said, standing. “Oh, thank the Maker. I thought He had abandoned me.”

“But is it only Keran?” Varric asked. “It could be Keran plus one. A very nasty plus one at that.”

“How do we tell?” Aveline asked.

Hawke punched Keran in the face, the Templar staggering back clutching a bloody nose. “What was that for?”

“The last possessed Templar we met went full abomination when struck,” Hawke said. “Merrill? You know something about this. Is he possessed?”

The elf knelt, dabbing her fingers in the blood from Keran’s nose that had dripped to the floor. “It’s clean. There’s no scent of demons in his blood.”

“Good enough.” Hawke looked to Keran. “Go ahead and leave. You’ve been through enough.”

“Don’t tell the Templars,” Keran begged. “I-I don’t know what they’d do to me. Please, I need to go back, tell them I’m all right. Tell my sister…I must go.”

“We should tell Ser Cullen about this,” Carver said as Keran left. “Maybe earn a Templar’s favor for a change.”

“He’s so young to be a Templar,” Merrill said softly.

“The Templars like them that way,” Anders replied. “They take them young, fill their heads with Chantry indoctrination. It’s easier that way.”

“I never understood why people could be so terrified of mages,” Carver said, leading the way out. “Our family had two. You…Bethany. But this…Andraste was right to warn against magic.”

“Tarohne made a choice,” Hawke said. “Most mages are good people. Most _people _are good people. At the end of the day, all we are is our choices.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Carver asked irritably. “It’s just that I never really thought about their side. Now I see.”

Hawke stared at her brother’s back for a moment. “Yeah. I suppose you do.”

Behind her, Anders was accosting Merrill. “So, when you first did blood magic, it was... just an accident, right? You cut yourself and realized the power? You didn't actually deal with a demon?”

“Oh, no. I did,” Merrill said matter-of-factly.

Anders tilted his head. “Why would you do that?”

“I needed his help. He was really very nice about it.”

“Of course he was! He's using you to get a foothold in a mortal brain!”

“He's a spirit,” Merrill insisted. “He offered me his aid. I hardly think you're one to criticize.”

Anders scowled, but pressed on. “Maybe you don't really understand the difference between spirits and demons.”

Merrill’s tone turned cold. “Did I ask you?”

“Spirits were the first children of the Maker, but He turned his back on them to dote on His mortal creations,” Anders explained. “The ones who resented this became demons, driven to take everything mortals had and gain back the Maker's favor.”

“Your ‘Maker’ is a story that you humans use to explain the world,” Merrill said quietly. “We have our own stories. I don't need to borrow yours.”

—ROTC—

Macha and Keran were embracing, Cullen looking on as Hawke reentered the Gallows. “Blood mages have infiltrated your ranks,” Hawke explained. Cullen’s eyes widened. “They’ve been implanting your recruits with demons. The perpetrators are…well, let’s say they won’t be giving you any more trouble.”

“Sweet blood of Andraste,” Cullen breathed.

“Demons?” Macha asked. “Did you say something about the recruits and demons?”

“I didn’t want to tell you, Macha,” Keran admitted. “They…they were horrible. Those mages see the rest of us as ants to be crushed. They won’t stop until they’ve destroyed the Chantry and the Templars forever.”

“Not all mages are like that,” Hawke insisted.

“True, not every mage gives into temptation, but none are ever free of it,” Cullen lectured. “At any time, any mage could become a monster, from the lowest apprentice to the most seasoned enchanters. Mages cannot be treated like people. They are not like you and me.”

Hawke stared him down. “So you make them slaves, is that it?” Fenris glared at her, but Hawke ignored him. Cullen’s jaw tightened.

“You can goad me all you want,” Cullen said. “I will not rise to it.”

“You keep people imprisoned here, innocents,” Hawke spat. “They have no right to determine their own fates, no right to protest the abuses of the Templars. How is that different from slavery?”

Cullen folded his arms, jerking his head at Aveline. “And is the Guard-Captain also a slaver?”

“She doesn’t imprison innocents,” Hawke said. “You imprison people for crimes they _might _commit. And I recognize the look in your eyes, _Knight-Captain,_” she used the title as if it were a curse. “You enjoy what you do.”

“They are weapons,” Cullen insisted. “They have the power to light a city on fire in a fit of pique.”

“And there are two military forces within Kirkwall with no loyalty to the city, either of which could burn the city at a whim,” Hawke shot back. “Should we not fear them as well?”

“The Templars would never-”

“And neither would most mages,” Hawke said, realizing she was fighting a losing battle. “There’s fault on both sides. We must find a way to live in peace.”

Cullen’s face softened slightly. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps mages need better education as to why the Chantry functions as it does. Perhaps they would not go against the will of Andraste herself. I will look into it.”

“I was going to say ‘perhaps the Templars could stop abusing mages,’ but you clearly aren’t listening to me anyway,” Hawke sighed. “You have to admit, the Templars have brought much of the hatred they receive on themselves.”

“That is the popular school of thought, no?” Cullen asked. “It used to be that Templars were welcomed wherever they went, for defending people from dark magics. Now the townsfolk are as likely to slam their doors as offer us a bed. The image of the poor, chained apprentice is a powerful one. And one the mages are more than willing to exploit.”

“What a tragedy,” Hawke said dryly.

“It is a losing battle,” Cullen agreed, either not understanding what she meant or not caring. “Every day new mages are born in Thedas. Every day, those born a dozen years ago come into their power. The best we can do is to contain the threat…and recruit more to fill our own ranks when they’re emptied. The Knight-Commander is never fooled by a sweet face. She always sees the demon behind it.”

“Whether there’s one there or not,” Hawke muttered.

Cullen let it pass, turning to Keran. “For now, Keran, unless it is proven you are free of demons, I must strip you of your commission immediately.”

“Please, ser,” Keran said. “I tried to resist. I never took anything they offered. I need this position or my sister can’t eat. I’ve been training for five years!”

“We conducted tests on Keran,” Hawke said. “He’s not possessed. He can stay in the Order.”

Cullen frowned. “I hesitate to ask what methods you used that you are so certain.”

“Ask him why his nose was bloody,” Hawke said. “It worked for you, after all.”

Cullen nodded. “You have done much for us by stopping these blood mages. I will heed your request. If he has shown no sign of demonic possession in ten years’ time, Keran will become eligible for full knighthood.”

“Thank you, serah,” Macha said. “Again. But without a full knighthood, Keran’s pay is so small, I do not know if I can reward you as you deserve.”

“I will handle that, miss,” Cullen said. “You have done the Order a great service. We will not forget it.” He passed over some coin, and Hawke did some mental arithmetic. _Almost there_. “I will tell the Knight-Commander of your service.”

“Oh, more attention,” Carver muttered. “That’s just grand.”

Aveline lingered a moment, speaking quietly to Keran, but joined them on the ferry back to the city. “You make the fifty sovereigns yet?”

“Almost,” Hawke said quietly. “Almost.”

—ROTC—

_Knight-Captain Cullen  
Knight-Captain Cullen was one of the few Templars who survived the incident at the Circle of Magi in Ferelden. The possessed blood mage Uldred took over the tower, and in his madness, he filled it with summoned demons and abominations. Cullen was imprisoned, tortured, and forced to watch the slaughter of his fellow Templars. The ordeal shook him, and he emerged from it convinced that even Templars fail to see how dangerous mages can be._

_After Cullen returned to his duties, it became clear that he would go to any lengths to enforce the Chantry's rule. His zeal troubled Knight-Commander Greagoir, who feared it unwise to let Cullen watch over the men and women he deemed responsible for his torment._

_Greagoir sent Cullen to serve under Knight-Commander Meredith in Kirkwall, and Meredith found Cullen's view of mages similar to her own. Of her company, only Cullen had seen mages' potentially terrifying power firsthand, and she believed he could influence the other Templars' views. Consequently, Cullen rose quickly through the ranks to become Knight-Captain and Meredith's second-in-command._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.


	12. The Deep Roads Expedition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke ventures underground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Kirkwall – Lowtown  
Lowtown sits in a massive cauldron-shaped pit that was once Kirkwall's first quarry. The district was constructed by slaves who carved the city and its harbor out of the rock._

_Today, Lowtown is a labyrinth of shantytowns, corridors, and hexagonal courtyards—"hexes" in the local parlance. Lowtown's poorest live in caves hewn out of the cliff face. The district is shoddily built and bears scars caused by collapsing walls. Foundry smoke smothers the area. Only a cold winter storm clears the air, but the icy wind howling over the mouths of old mineshafts hardly counts as relief._

_Occasionally, these Darktown shafts erupt with gouts of foul air known as chokedamp. It's not uncommon to find whole slums silently suffocated, frozen in the midst of everyday activity._

_The walls surrounding Lowtown are highest by the harbor. Its busiest street leads up to Hightown, where the wealthiest Kirkwallers perch. When one stands in Lowtown, all one sees other than the rocky walls is Hightown. It glitters overhead, always in sight, yet always beyond reach._

_—From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi_

—ROTC—

"You're pretty good with Bianca," Hawke said in the Hanged Man that night.

"I pride myself on being the second-best archer in Kirkwall," Varric replied.

"Second-best?" Hawke asked. "Who's the best?"

"I've never actually met anyone better," Varric admitted. "But I can always hope."

“That’s the spirit,” Hawke said cheerfully, catching the eye of the woman who had paid her to eavesdrop on the raider captains’ meeting. “Excuse me a moment.”

“You hear the most awful things happening to people in Kirkwall these days,” the woman said in greeting. “What have you heard?”

“Someone powerful in Kirkwall – in the Viscount’s office, I think – wants the raiders to attack Amaranthine shipping,” Hawke said.

“As I suspected,” the woman said, handing over a sack of coin. “You’ve earned a bonus. You’ve done Ferelden and Amaranthine a great service.”

Hawke’s eyes bugged out as she ran the numbers in her head. “We did it!” She hissed to Carver. “Fifty sovereigns! And change!”

“Good,” Carver said. “Mother will need the rest to get by while we’re gone.”

—ROTC—

“Varric!” Bartrand called as they approached. “Where did you get off to?” His eyes narrowed. “And what are you planning?”

“Bartrand, so suspicious,” Varric said smoothly. “I have, in fact, brought us our future partner!”

“What?” Bartrand demanded. “Partner? You stupid, nug-humping dirt-farmer! Why did you go promising something like that?”

Hawke scowled, but Varric’s smile never faded. “Because if we don’t get this expedition moving, brother, then we won’t have any profits to argue about, will we?”

Bartrand grunted. “Maybe you have a point.”

“There’s so much love here,” Hawke said acerbically. “It’s very comforting.”

“What I’d love is the coin to back up my brother’s confidence,” Bartrand snapped. “How about it, human?”

Hawke crossed her arms. “Before I go handing you fifty sovereigns, are we talking a full share here, or what?”

Bartrand mimicked her pose. “If you have the coin, sure. You’ll get a full share.”

“Then you better start planning your purchases,” Hawke replied. “I do have your coin, in fact.”

Bartrand’s eyes gleamed. “You’re joking.”

“What did I tell you, Bartrand?” Varric asked as Hawke handed over the coin. “Not bad for a human.”

“All right, partner,” Bartrand said grudgingly, polite enough not to count it in front of Hawke. “Full share of the profit between you, me, and Varric. Now we just need a decent entrance into the Deep Roads.”

Hawke fished out the maps Anders had given them. “These might be just what we need.”

The dwarf examined the maps. “Three…four entrances into the Deep Roads, all in the Free Marches? Where did you get these?”

“Didn’t I tell you we could find a Grey Warden?” Varric asked. “Mother didn’t raise a fool.” He paused. “Well, she didn’t raise _two _of them.”

“Well, color me astounded,” Bartrand said. “We just pick the most promising one and go. Time to wrap up any business you have in the city, my friend. We’ll be gone for several weeks at least.”

“We’ll be ready within two days,” Hawke said.

—ROTC—

“We’ll be gone a couple weeks, maybe longer,” Hawke said.

Leandra’s mouth was set in a disapproving line. “So you’ve been saving up to buy onto this expedition? That’s money we could have used for food, or clothes!”

“This is our way out of this hole,” Hawke insisted. “We’re not gambling, here, we know that this expedition will find something valuable. The money from this will keep us taken care of for…”

“Years, at least,” Carver finished. “We’ve got enough left to get our gear maintained for this expedition, and…some to keep things paid for around here while we’re gone.”

After a long pause, Leandra nodded. “Just…be careful. Please. Who are you taking with you?” Leandra asked. “I’ve heard you two talking about your friends.”

“Anders and Fenris, definitely,” Hawke replied. “Isabela, if she’ll come. The others probably aren’t interested in traipsing about looking for gold.”

“I’d like to meet them,” Leandra said.

—ROTC—

“His mood’s definitely improved,” Leandra said, scratching Hopper behind the ears. “But he’s too frisky to be cooped up in this shack all day. We need more space.”

“Soon, Mother,” Hawke said. “For now, I feel better knowing he’s here protecting you.”

“I might not wish to be cooped up here, either!” Leandra replied. “I suppose I could take him for a stroll. What an odd sight we’ll make, a mother and her mabari.” Hopper barked happily.

There was a knock at the door, and Hawke opened it to find her companions assembled outside. “Come in! Everyone, this is my mother, Leandra. Mother, these are my friends. Varric, Fenris, Anders, Isabela, Merrill, and you know Aveline, of course.”

“Good to see you again,” Leandra said to Aveline. “I was glad to hear of your promotion.”

“It isn’t official, not yet,” Aveline replied. “But…it feels good.”

“Don’t hog the lady’s time, Aveline,” Varric said. “Lady Hawke. Varric Tethras, at your service.” He bent at the waist, shaking her hand in a gentlemanly fashion. “Any mother of Hawke’s is a friend of mine.”

“Charmed,” Leandra said, unable to hide her smile at the dwarf’s antics.

Isabela hip-checked Varric out of the way. “Captain Isabela. Queen of the Eastern Seas.”

“Isabela,” Leandra said. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Have you ever been to Antiva? You look remarkably similar to a woman I once–” Varric kicked her in the ankle, and Isabela fell silent.

“My lady,” Fenris said softly, taking Leandra’s hand in his own and brushing his lips across the back of her knuckles. “A pleasure.”

“Fenris, is it?” Leandra asked. “Hawke speaks highly of you.”

“Hawke is too kind,” Fenris said.

“How come you don’t speak highly of me?” Isabela asked.

“Because you do it for yourself,” Hawke said dryly. “Do you want to come on the expedition?”

“No, but if you need me, I’ll tag along,” Isabela sighed.

“Then we need you,” Hawke said. “Fenris, Anders, and Varric are already coming, we need another woman to balance the numbers.”

“You’re not taking me along?” Aveline asked.

“Do you _want _to go digging around in the Deep Roads, fighting darkspawn?” Hawke asked.

“No, but I figured…” Aveline paused. “I figured you’d want me there.”

“You’ve got your way out,” Hawke said. “This is ours.” She dragged Anders over as the healer tried to edge towards the exit. “Mother, this is Anders.”

“Ma’am,” Anders said uncomfortably. “You must excuse me, I am…unused to such gatherings.”

“It has been many years since my last party,” Leandra admitted. “I am uncomfortable in crowds myself.” The two chatted for a bit before Hawke brought Merrill over.

“Mother, this is Merrill. Merrill, my mother.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Merrill said. “Hawke has been so nice and helpful since I came to the city.”

“That’s my daughter,” Leandra replied. “Never too busy to help someone in need. I think I’ve seen you in the market, actually. Do you live in the Alienage?”

Merrill nodded. "Your house isn’t so far from mine! We're neighbours! Except for the different neighbourhoods thing." Leandra gave her a bemused look until Hopper shoved his muzzle under Merrill’s hand. “Oh, and your dog is here!” Merrill patted Hopper on the head. “You know what the Dalish say to their dogs? ‘Take the Dread Wolf by the ear if he comes.’ I could tell you a story of the Dread Wolf, if you like.”

Hopper _whuffed_, and Hawke nodded in agreement. “Sounds interesting.”

“Long ago, a clan lived on the Silent Plains,” Merrill began. “It was a terrible, lonely place where the sun was forbidden to shine. Their Keeper had a coursing hound – they had run down deer and hares and wolves together when they were young. But they had grown old together, Keeper and hound, and now only dozed before the campfire, dreaming of hunts.” Hopper whimpered. “But then the Dread Wolf came, for the Keeper was wise and kind – the things Fen’harel hates above all else. At night, he tried to steal into the Keeper’s dreams, to twist his mind and turn him against the People. But even in dreams, the courser guarded his master. He caught the Dread Wolf’s scent and gave chase across the Fade.” Hopper barked happily, and Hawke leaned forward, riveted. “Oh, you like that part? Shall I keep going?”

“It’s fascinating,” Hawke said. “Let’s hear the rest!”

Merrill giggled as Hopper barked in agreement. “Fen’harel tried to shake his pursuer, but the hound ran as coursers can only run in their dreams. Even the wind couldn’t have fled that hound. He ran the Dread Wolf down and grabbed him by the tail! Fen’harel howled, so loud the Veil shook and even the stars scattered in fear. But the hound wouldn’t let go. Neither hound nor Wolf gave in. Finally, Fen’harel bit off his own tail to escape, and away he fled. Ever since, the Dread Wolf thinks twice about playing his tricks when dogs are on guard.” Hopper barked happily again, and Merrill smiled. “I’m pleased you liked it. So few animals are interested in Dalish history.” She scratched him behind the ears again. “He’s a sweet dog, Hawke.” Isabela caught the elf’s attention, and Merrill moved off to speak to her.

The hound immediately turned on Anders. “Stop looking at me,” the mage protested. “I really don’t like all this open…slobbery affection. Be a real pet! Ignore me until you want something and then sit on my head!” Hopper tilted his head, whining, and Anders sighed. “I miss Ser Pounce-a-Lot.”

The group went on talking, laughing, and eating as the day turned into night, until finally Varric caught Hawke’s eye and nodded at the door. “My Lady Hawke,” Varric said. “A pleasure to meet you, but I’m afraid we must be going.” He winked at Hawke. “Just one more thing. Daisy, for my sake, please quit cutting through the alleys in Lowtown alone at night.”

Merrill sighed. “Nothing ever happens. I'm perfectly safe, Varric.”

“Yes, I know,” Varric said. “And that nothing is costing me a fortune.”

"Don't forget your clean smallclothes, because I have the feeling we'll be shitting ourselves a lot," Hawke said as her companions trooped out the door.

—ROTC—

“Are you ready?” Bartrand asked as Hawke approached. “Our appraisers are here, the group is assembled, we’re just waiting on you.”

“We’re ready,” Hawke replied.

“Then let’s not waste any more time.” He whistled sharply, catching the assembled expedition’s attention. “We’ve chosen one of the hidden entrances,” Bartrand called. “The Deep Roads there will be nice and virginal, ready for a good deflowering.”

Varric stifled a snort. “Now there’s an interesting image.”

“It’ll take a week for us to get to the depth we need, and there are bound to be leftover darkspawn from the Blight. Big risks, big rewards. Now, before we…” He trailed off, staring over Hawke’s shoulder. “Who invited the old woman?”

Hawke turned, seeing her mother standing there. “I’m sorry to interrupt, ser dwarf, but I need to speak with my children,” Leandra said.

“Mother, no,” Carver said as they stepped aside to talk. “We talked about how important this is.”

“I just want to know one thing,” Leandra said to Hawke. “Are you planning on taking Carver with you?”

“Of course,” Hawke said. “Even if I had someone I trusted at my back as much, I couldn’t make Carver stay.”

“Too right,” Carver muttered. “You’ll need the help. I’m going. It’ll be fine.”

“It’s not fine!” Leandra insisted. “You can’t both go! What if something were to happen to you?”

“Something could quite easily happen to him here,” Hawke pointed out.

“You I understand wanting to do this, but leave your brother here, I beg you!”

“It’s not her decision!” Carver snapped. “I’m just as much a partner in this as she is! I said I’m going, and I’m going. Besides, if we’re so bloody afraid of Templars, I should go and she should hide!”

“Carver, I beg you,” Leandra said tearfully. “Don’t go, don’t do this!”

Carver’s face softened. “Don’t worry about me so. I can take care of myself, you’ll see.”

Leandra sighed, but nodded. “Be safe. Maker watch over you both.”

“And you as well, Mother,” Hawke said. “Ser Wagtail will look after you, don’t worry.”

“Personal drama over with?” Bartrand asked as they rejoined the group, ignoring Carver’s glare. “Then let’s get underway.”

—ROTC—

“No, this can’t be right,” Cassandra interrupted. “The Champion was an apostate who came to Kirkwall to spread subversion against the Chantry. But you claim this wasn’t the case.”

“That would make things more cut-and-dried for you, wouldn’t it?” Varric asked skeptically. “If you’ve already decided what really happened, why are you still listening?”

“The Champion just happened to have dealings with the Qunari, joined forces with a known raider, a blood mage, a rebel Warden, and for what? Coin?”

“Maybe it’s not as simple as you imagine, Seeker.”

“Simple?” Cassandra echoed. “Do I need to remind you what your friends did? Do I need to tell you how many lives have been lost, how many more will be lost?”

“If you think I don’t know already, Seeker, you’re not nearly as smart as I thought,” Varric said softly.

“You cannot sit there and tell me she is innocent!”

“You don’t want to believe she’s innocent,” Varric replied. “And I don’t know if ‘innocent’ is the right word, exactly, anyway.”

“She must have known! Somehow the Champion knew what was down there. That’s why she wanted to join your expedition.”

“Now you’re seeing a conspiracy where there is none,” Varric said gravely. “But no. None of us knew. If we had…” He shook his head. “She wouldn’t have let her brother step foot into that Blighted hole.”

“Is that so?” Cassandra asked. “Then tell me your version of what happened on this expedition.”

“Well, we entered the Deep Roads as planned, but we didn’t get very far.”

—ROTC—

It took a week and a half to reach the depths Bartrand had planned to descend to, picking their way through sections of the Deep Roads that were blocked by the earth shifting. Hawke and her companions were more than just partners in the expedition – with a handful of fighters and a Grey Warden along, they were additional muscle to supplement the expedition guards. There wasn’t a single darkspawn in sight for the first four days, or in fact anything larger than a deepstalker, but Anders appeared awake and alert almost all the time anyway.

The darkness and the confined space left Varric and Anders on edge and irritable, not helped by Isabela needling them at every opportunity.

Bartrand called a halt as a scout returned from ahead, a dark look on the dwarf’s face. “There’s been a collapse – the way forward is blocked.”

“What?” Bartrand demanded. “Is there some way around?”

“Not that I’ve been able to find,” The scout said nervously, backing up as Bartrand advanced. “The side passages are too dangerous.”

There was a pause, before Bartrand belted the scout. “Useless! What am I paying you blighters for? Set camp!”

“Problems, brother?” Varric asked.

“Sodding Deep Roads,” Bartrand griped. “Who knows how long it’ll take to clear the path?”

“Shall we not try to find a way around, instead?” Varric asked sensibly. “Seems like the logical choice.”

Bartrand scowled. “You think I’m an idiot, Varric? The scouts say the side passages are too dangerous!”

“We need to do something,” Hawke pressed. “Sitting out here in the open is just as dangerous.”

“We’ll take a look,” Varric offered. “If we come running back, screaming, you’ll know staying put was the right choice.”

“Fine, fine,” Bartrand said irritably. “Find a way around. Just do it quickly!”

“This is why I left the Wardens,” Anders sighed. “I hate the blighted Deep Roads.”

Bodahn approached them then. The dwarf was one of the appraisers along on the expedition, and a respected merchant who had supplied a great deal of the food and equipment for the expedition. “I hate to add to your burdens, my friends, but I fear I must. I think my boy, Sandal, wandered off. He’s somewhere in those passages, right now! I beg you, keep an eye out for him. He just doesn’t understand danger like he should.”

“When did you last see him?” Hawke asked.

“Not a half hour ago. I turned my back to hand out rations, and he was gone! He gets so easily distracted. I should have been harsher with my warnings!”

“We need to search the side passages,” Hawke said. “We’ll bring him back, if we can.”

“Let’s move quickly, then,” Varric said.

They had cut down several side passages when Anders paused. “There’s darkspawn ahead,” He warned. With no Templars about, he and Hawke were able to properly cut loose, and they called down fire and lightning on the darkspawn. Carver and Fenris’s blades were invaluable in the darkness of the side passages, sweeping strikes cleaving through the rusty, salvaged armor the darkspawn wore. Isabela and Varric seemed to strike from every angle, dropping darkspawn left and right. There were spiders as well, corrupted after feeding on the darkspawn and bloated with the Taint.

With all the opposition they were facing, Hawke was certain that all they would find of Sandal was remains, but they came upon a pack of dead hurlocks splattered across a cavern floor. The most impressive of the lot was a single ogre, frozen solid in mid-bellow. “Well, I’ll be a nug’s uncle,” Varric said. “Isn’t that Bodahn’s boy?”

“Hullo,” Sandal said brightly.

“It is,” Carver chuckled. “The great warrior stands victorious.”

Hawke couldn’t help it, breaking out laughing. “I’d really like to know how you managed to kill all of them.”

Sandal held out an object Hawke didn’t recognize, but Anders hissed out a breath, taking a step back. “That’s a lyrium charge,” he warned. “They’re unstable.”

Hawke jerked a thumb at the frozen ogre. “And how did you do _that_?”

Sandal gave her broad smile. “_Not _enchantment!”

“Fenris, Isabela, can you see Sandal back to his father?” Hawke asked. The elf nodded, tapping Sandal on the shoulder and jerking his head in the direction of the camp.

They waited until their companions rejoined them and pushed ahead, past a row of identical statues, until Anders warned them of more darkspawn ahead and the fight was on again. A slew of dead hurlocks later, they emerged into another section of the Deep Roads.

“I’m surprised these tunnels don’t simply collapse,” Carver said.

“Dwarves made them,” Varric replied.

Carver shrugged. “Then I’m surprised they’re not smaller.” Varric snorted out a laugh, and Hawke grinned.

That was when Carver decided to press his luck. “So… Isabela.”

Isabela smirked. “Oh, Carver, I do love the way you say my name.”

“I… er… thank you?” Carver stammered.

“Carver, if you stop breathing every time a woman compliments you, you’ll never be awake when the fun starts.” She paused. “I saw you at the Blooming Rose the other night.”

Carver’s gaze flickered over to her. “What? No you didn’t.”

Isabela’s smirk broadened. “I suppose someone else stole your chin to romance Faith?”

Carver scoffed. “That’s unlikely. She wasn’t even working.”

“Mm-hmm. Got you.”

“Oh ho!” Varric said. “Nicely done.”

Hawke gasped. “Carver, what would Mother say?”

Carver grimaced. “You're just... that's not what I... shit!” He searched for a way out. “So, Isabela. You captained a ship? That's a lot of men to handle. For you to command.”

Isabela chuckled. “Well aren't you just adorable fumbling for a topic.”

“You say that like I'm harmless,” Carver said.

“As harmless as a pup that will someday grow into its fangs and sink them deep.”

“Sure, keep teasing,” Carver said darkly. “I'll show you how much of a pup I am.”

Isabela nodded. “I know. That's why I do it. That, and you look like a man I once dueled. He was a little intimated by my reputation as a vicious pirate, but rose to the challenge.”

Carver raised an eyebrow. “He looked like me, you say?”

“It went on all night, under the stars, the waves lapping at our ankles.”

Carver blinked. “On the beach? In the surf? How did you get proper footing?”

Isabela shook her head. “We didn't. There was quite a bit of tumbling around, and we were soaked and sore by the time the sun came up.”

“Did you... win?”

“I managed to get on top in the end, but I considered it a tie,” Isabela said.

Carver nodded, before pausing as realization sunk in. “Why is it always about sex with you?”

Isabela grinned. “It's not. Sometimes it's about sex with other people.”

“You see? It comes up every single time we talk.”

“We're just talking, Carver. If it comes up, that's not my fault.”

Carver blanched. “What? I mean... that's not what I meant. It... it doesn't!” He glared at her. “I hate you so much.”

Up ahead, there was another stretch of the Deep Roads, and Hawke looked to Varric. “This goes right where we want it to,” the dwarf said.

—ROTC—

“Holy shit,” Varric breathed as the great octagonal steel doors of the thaig opened.

“Is this what you were expecting?” Hawke asked.

“I thought…an abandoned thaig, something old,” Bartrand said, “but…what is this?”

“How did you even know this was here?”

“Old scavenger tales, after the Third Blight,” Bartrand explained. “A week below the surface, they said. But nobody believed them.”

“Looks like they were right,” Varric said, looking out over the entrance to the thaig.

“Make camp here,” Bartrand ordered. “We need to look around.” It didn’t take long for Bartrand to start grumbling in frustration. “I don’t get it. Nothing in this thaig makes sense.”

“Why’s that?” Hawke asked.

“We’re well below the Deep Roads. Whatever dwarves lived here, they came long before the First Blight. But where are the statues of Paragons? I don’t recognize these markings on the wall or anything in the rubble.”

“If these are that old, maybe your people were different back then,” Hawke suggested.

“I know enough about our history to know we haven’t changed much. Dwarves have been mired in tradition for many ages. These dwarves might have been unique. If so, I hope they kept their valuables close at hand.” He glanced deeper into the thaig. “You take a look around. I’m going to get this rabble to set up a camp.”

Bodahn was set up nearby. “You found him!” He said, shaking Hawke’s hand. “I owe you a great debt. I will repay it somehow – I swear my life on it!”

“No need,” Hawke replied. “I’m glad Sandal was all right.” She eyed the young dwarf, who gave her a wide grin. “He’s something special.”

“He’s all right because of you,” Bodahn said. “You will not regret this.”

“You don’t seem excited about this find,” Hawke said to Varric as they pushed deeper into the thaig. “Bartrand’s hair was practically standing on end.”

“Unlike him, I wasn’t born in Orzammar,” Varric explained. “I wouldn’t even be down here if there wasn’t profit in it. This entire place gives me the chills. Let’s hope it’s worth it.”

“Whatever we find, it might not be very pleasant,” Hawke said. “We’re raiding a tomb, after all.”

“I suppose we’ll need to go in there to find out,” Varric sighed. “Come on.”

Hawke had heard stories of Orzammar before and expected something similar, but there were no statues of Paragons, no dwarven artistry. No darkspawn, either, which Hawke wasn’t sure what to make of.

They did start to find relics and artifacts, however, but Anders paused over a ring, magelight flaring in his hand as he examined the ring closer. “This is _elven_,” he pronounced. “Another Warden I knew, a Dalish elf, wore a ring just like this.”

“Something to sell, I suppose,” Hawke said, unable to shake the feeling that something was very wrong. A shiver ran down her spine, and she looked around, seeing the shadows moving. “Anders? Do you feel something wrong with the Veil here?”

“Well that’s ridiculous, dwarves don’t…” Anders paused, glancing into the shadows himself. “Be careful.” Moments later, they were under attack by shades, the demons pulling themselves up from the dust and rubble. Fenris’s markings lit up as he bulled through a shade, the demon dispersing under his attack as Anders blew another shade to pieces with a burst of lightning.

As the last shade dissipated into the darkness, Hawke glared at the shadows. “This doesn’t make any sense. Dwarves don’t have problems with demons.”

“That’s what I was going to say,” Anders agreed. “I suppose…Tevinter had an alliance with the dwarves, maybe something happened here?”

The shades they had encountered seemed to be the sum of the opposition, and they pushed deeper into the thaig unmolested.

“Is that…lyrium?” Hawke asked, examining one of the veins of red snaking up the wall. “It’s…wrong.”

“Very wrong,” Anders said. “I don’t like this place.”

“Me neither.”

“Agreed,” Isabela said, spinning her knives in her hands nervously. “Come on, let’s find what we came for and get out of here.”

The corridor they were exploring widened, and Hawke gripped her staff tightly as she saw heavy, carved stone chests around the room and a massive stone altar ahead. “If there’s more demons…fall back, we’ll bottle them up through the door,” she ordered.

There was a flare of magic up ahead, and Hawke nearly lobbed a fireball before she saw the source – a relic on top of the altar, strangely shaped and alone on the flat surface.

Fenris and Isabela checked further ahead as Anders and Varric looked over the artifact with Hawke and Carver. “Whatever this is, it isn’t any dwarven make I’ve ever seen,” Varric said.

“It’s definitely magic,” Anders said. “And not the good kind.”

Varric gingerly picked it up, turning it over in his hands. “I think it might be lyrium, but it’s not any sort I’ve ever seen.”

“What have you found?” Bartrand called from the door.

“Look at this, Bartrand,” Varric said. “An idol made out of pure lyrium, I think. Could be worth a fortune.”

Bartrand gave a low whistle. “You could be right. Excellent find.”

Varric tossed him the idol. “We’ll take a look around, see if there’s anything further in.”

“You do that,” Bartrand said softly, heading for the door.

“This place feels so _wrong_,” Hawke said softly to Anders.

There was a boom as the door shut, and Varric turned. “Bartrand! The door shut behind you!”

Hawke could barely hear Bartrand’s voice on the other side. “You always did notice everything, Varric.” A yawning void opened before her.

_He had locked them inside._

“Are you joking?!” Varric shouted. “You’re going to screw over your own brother for a lousy idol?!”

“It’s not just the idol!” Bartrand replied. “The location of this thaig alone is worth a fortune! And I’m not splitting that three ways! Sorry, _brother_!”

“Bartrand! _Bartrand_!” There were no more replies. Varric slammed his fist agains the metal of the door. “I swear I will find that son of a bitch – sorry, Mother – and I will _kill_ him!”

“What’s going on?” Isabela called from the other side of the room. Her knives were in her hands, and from the looks of it she had come running at the shouts.

“My brother just sold us up the river,” Varric spat, kicking the door.

“Anders,” Hawke said.

The mage ran his hand over the door, a patch of ice blossoming under his hand. “Here. Stonefist, together?”

“On three.” The two mages cast together, the conjured lumps of stone hammering against the thick door.

Carver put his shoulder to it, and shook his head. “No good.”

“Looks like he’s blocked it somehow. You got a plan?" Varric asked, eyeing the stone door that sealed them in.

"I have one-eighth of a plan and seven-eighths of a prayer," Hawke replied. “Fenris, Isabela? You find anything up ahead?”

“More goodies,” Isabela said, shaking a satchel that clinked. “We took the choicest bits.”

“We did not get very far,” Fenris admitted.

More shades were up ahead, and Fenris and Carver took them apart easily, their blades ripping through the fragile forms. But there were more enemies ahead, and they were less fragile than the shades, hulking forms of rock and bone. Hawke and Anders took over, magic blasting apart what turned aside steel.

“Bloody flames, what were those things?” Varric asked.

“Nothing good,” Anders said. “Spirits can inhabit trees, I suppose they could inhabit rocks too. Although why they _would_…” He continued talking out of nerves as they kept moving. “Whatever happened here was bad enough that there are demons even below the Deep Roads. I’ve seen places where the Veil has been thinned by deaths, but this…this is something else. Even something different from Kirkwall.”

“_Enough_,” a booming voice rang. Hawke paused, her staff held defensively in front of her. Hawke glanced to Anders, then back to the demon as it pulled rocks into a cohesive form. “You have proven your mettle. I would not see these creatures harmed without need.”

“You’re the first one here that hasn’t simply attacked us,” Hawke said softly.

“They will not assault you further. Not without my permission.” That seemed unlikely, unless these rock monsters were also demons, under the control of the demon speaking to them now.

“What are these things?” Varric hissed. “They seem like rock wraiths, but…”

“They _hunger_,” the demon said. “The Profane have lingered in this place for ages beyond memory, feeding on the magic stones until the need is all they know.”

“The lyrium?” Hawke asked. “That’s what sustains them?”

“I am not as they are,” the demon said. “I am…a visitor.”

“It seems mostly interested in their hunger,” Anders said. “It’s a demon, come to feed.”

“I would not see my feast end,” it told her. Hawke carefully kept her face blank as the demon tried to cut a deal. “I sense your desire. You seek to leave this place, but you will need my aid to do so.”

“Don’t do it,” Anders said. “Demons will trip you up every time.”

“Could be a way out of here, I don’t know,” Carver pointed out.

“Why do we need your aid to leave?” Hawke asked carefully.

“There is another door that leads into the paths far above us,” the demon explained. “That is what you seek.” _A way out!_ Hawke tried not to let her elation show. “It has been sealed, however, and cannot be opened without a key. I know where the key is. Do as I ask, and I shall tell you.”

“Here’s my counter-offer.” Hawke blew the demon apart with a massive burst of lightning. “I don’t deal with demons.”

“You heard that thing,” Varric said as they kept moving, wary of the shadows. “There’s another exit to this place.”

“If we can get it open,” Carver replied. “I’m glad you didn’t deal with that thing, but I’m just hoping the key’s not behind the lock.”

They found more steps hewn from the raw stone ahead, leading to another large chamber. The ceiling was surprisingly high for dwarven construction, supported by thick columns. Another heavy door was at the other end of the chamber, and Hawke’s heart soared as she saw their way out.

“If we can get it open,” Fenris said, “we can head off Bartrand and the expedition before they can leave.”

“Good,” Hawke said coldly. “I’m going to need a word with Bartrand. I think the word will be ‘die.’” She looked around as they crossed the chamber. “What is this place?”

“This is the vault,” Varric explained. “The dwarves would have brought their…” he trailed off as there were the rumbling cracks of stones knocking together behind them. Hawke and Varric shared a pained glance, before turning, spotting a haze of red pulling together rocks into another of the Profane, this one far larger than the others had been. “That…can’t be good…”

—ROTC—

_Geography of Thedas  
Thedas is bounded to the east by the Amaranthine Ocean, to the west by Tirashan Forest and the Hunterhorn Mountains, to the south by the snowy wastes that lie beyond the Orkney Mountains, and to the north by Donark Forest._

_The word "Thedas" is Tevinter in origin, originally used to refer to lands that bordered the Imperium. As the Imperium lost its stranglehold on conquered nations, more and more lands became Thedas, until finally people applied the name to the entire continent._

_The northern part of Thedas is divided amongst the Anderfels, the Tevinter Imperium, Antiva, and Rivain, with the islands held by the Qunari just off the coast. Central Thedas consists of the Free Marches, Nevarra, and Orlais, with Ferelden to the south._

_What lies beyond the snowy wastes is a mystery. The freezing temperatures and barren land have kept even the most intrepid cartographers at bay. Similarly, the western reaches of the Anderfels have never been fully explored, even by the Anders themselves. We do not know if the dry steppes are shadowed by mountains, or if they extend all the way to a nameless sea._

_There must be other lands, continents or islands, perhaps across the Amaranthine or north of Par Vollen, for the Qunari arrived in Thedas from somewhere, but beyond that deduction, we know nothing._

_\--From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of A Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.


	13. Moving Up, Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betrayed, Hawke finds a way out of the thaig.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Sundermount  
Kirkwall is guarded by mountains to it north, the tallest of which is Sundermount. The mountain has a fearsome reputation. Legend says it was the site of the final battle between the Tevinter Imperium of old and the ancient empire of elves that perished with Arlathan. Both sides unleashed horrors into the waking world, and Fade creatures prowl the heights to this very day, unaware that the war for which they were summoned is long since over._

_There is a tale in the Free Marches that Blessed Andraste, upon reaching Kirkwall with her armies, sojourned up the slopes of Sundermount alone. She stayed there three days. When she returned, she wept as if her heart were broken._

_I stayed two months in Kirkwall, and despite my best efforts, I never found a guide willing to take me up the mountain._

_—From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi_

—ROTC—

Hawke grabbed Varric by the back of his duster, dragging him along as she dashed for the other side of the chamber, ducking behind a column as a torrent of red flooded the chamber, a deep note reverberating through the chamber and wrenching a scream from Hawke’s throat as the sound seemed to tear at her very being. Anders was howling in pain on his knees, his staff on the ground and his hands over his ears. Isabela pulled him farther behind the column, Varric scooping the dropped staff off the ground and shoving it towards the raider as Carver shouted something, inaudible above the din.

Abruptly, the chamber fell silent and the energy faded, and Anders slumped to the ground, Isabela pulling him to a sitting position against the column. “I’ll look after him,” she said. “Kill that thing!”

Varric loaded a quarrel of arrows into Bianca, his mouth set in a grim line. “Let’s do this.” Hawke felt dizzy and nauseous, but nodded, clutching her father’s old staff tightly as Fenris and Carver hooked out on opposite sides of the column, blades at the ready.

Varric’s arrows chipped away at the stone of the creature’s arm as Carver and Fenris hacked at its legs, trying to draw its attention. Hawke blew the injured arm off with a burst of lightning, rock crumbling away under the assault. Another lightning bolt cracked the other arm, and Carver brought a crushing strike down on the damaged stone, the arm shattering under the blow.

“Aim for the head!” Varric shouted, cranking Bianca and ricocheting an arrow off what passed for the creature’s face. Hawke spun her staff, lightning collecting around each end, and drew on what mana she had left, feeling the magic coursing through her.

The giant Profane’s head blew apart under the attack, and the stones dropped apart, disintegrating as the sustaining force vanished.

“Isabela?” Hawke called. “How’s Anders?”

“Groggy,” Anders moaned in response. “What hit me? Another ogre?”

“I don’t know what that thing was, but it’s dead now,” Hawke said, offering the healer a hand and pulling him to his feet. “You all right?”

“I’ve had worse,” Anders said, wiping his nose. It came away bloody. “Anyone else hurt?”

“Take care of yourself first,” Hawke urged. Anders weaved slightly, before nodding and putting both hands to his head, healing magic flaring around his hands.

“The rock wraiths are supposed to be dwarven legends,” Varric said. “They’re not even supposed to be real.”

“Looked real enough to me,” Hawke replied, grimacing as her head ached.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Varric sighed. “Look at what it was guarding!”

“Oh, _this _is what I came along for,” Isabela said.

It was a treasure trove, enough to make all of them rich. The artifacts and the lyrium idol were certainly worth a great deal to the right buyers, but hard currency, coin and jewels, _those _could be exchanged anywhere. Those could actually be sold easily. There were more artifacts as well, things that would take appraisal, but the coin and jewels would be the most profitable.

And none of it interested Hawke at the moment. Wealth was nice, but surviving long enough to see daylight again would be nicer. “Let’s see if there’s something that can help us get out of here,” Hawke prodded.

It took some time to sort through all of it, during which Fenris, Carver, and Isabela divvied up the loot from the vault as best they could. Varric gave a cry of triumph as he held a key up. “A key! The kind that opens doors, I hope.” Hawke immediately made for the door as Varric continued. “Let’s collect the best pieces we can carry out of here and then go.”

The key worked, and Hawke felt a gush of warm air come through as the door opened easily. “Have we got everything we can carry?” she asked. “If we’re going to make it back, we might as well make it back wealthy.” At a glance, she had a few hundred sovereigns’ worth of coin, jewels, and artifacts in her pack, and each of her companions had similar hauls.

The walls were uncut stone, but the tunnel led invariably upward, emerging into what was far more like the Deep Roads than anything they had seen in days.

“I’d say this is our way back,” Varric said softly.

“How long to get back?” Hawke asked.

“If we’re unlucky, maybe a week.”

“And if we’re lucky?”

Varric scowled. “We stumble over Bartrand’s corpse on the way.”

—ROTC—

“Maybe it’s all just blurring together, but this part of the Deep Roads looks familiar,” Hawke commented.

Varric nodded. “We’re back where we started, and in only five days. Not bad, eh?”

“Think we could…take a break?” Carver asked faintly. “I feel…wrong.”

Hawke nodded. “Let’s make camp, if you’re sick.”

“I’ll wager it was those deep mushrooms we found,” Varric said lightly. His face fell as Carver dropped to his knees.

“No, it’s…” He dropped to the floor, and Hawke turned at the clattering.

“Carver!”

“It’s the Taint,” Anders said. “I can sense it.”

“Just like that Templar, Wesley,” Carver said. “I’ll be just as dead, just as gone.”

“There must be some other way,” Hawke insisted.

“I’m not going to make it,” Carver said. “Not to the surface, not anywhere. It’s getting worse.”

“There might be something we can do,” Anders said hesitantly. “I stole the maps we used from a Warden that had come to Kirkwall. I wanted to know if he was looking for me. He wasn’t. The maps were for planning their own expedition into the Deep Roads.”

Hawke felt a flicker of hope. “Does that mean the Grey Wardens are here?”

“If the Wardens _are _here, I know where they’ll be,” Anders said. “We could bring Carver to them.”

“And what?” Carver asked from the floor. “Become a Grey Warden?”

“Is it a cure?”

“In a way,” Anders said evasively. “But it’s not without a price – one not everyone is willing to pay.”

“What price?” Hawke demanded. “Maker’s breath, spit it out! My brother is dying!”

“Dying, not deaf, thank you,” Carver snarked.

“The process of becoming a Warden is…unpleasant,” Anders explained. “And irreversible.”

“So is dying,” Carver said.

“It also means you might never see your brother again.”

“Hey, an upside,” Carver commented.

“Now you find a sense of humor?” Varric asked.

“He might survive the Taint, but at the cost of becoming a Grey Warden. It’s not an easy life. Trust me.”

“What about you?” Hawke asked. “You’re not a Grey Warden anymore.”

“You think I got away?” Anders asked darkly. “Eventually they or the Circle will drag me back. I’ve got no illusions about that. But the Wardens might agree to Join him, if we can find them in time.” He grimaced. “My old commander would love to have him. The Wardens nearby, however…we could convince them, but it’s all pointless if they aren’t there.”

“If there’s even a chance, we must take it,” Hawke said. “Varric, Isabela, can you split up Carver’s share of the haul?” She pulled Carver to his feet, supporting his weight. “Come on. I’m not losing you to this.”

“Wish I had your confidence,” Carver said.

“Just don’t die,” Hawke urged. “You didn’t survive Ostagar, didn’t survive a year in Kirkwall, didn’t survive the Deep Roads, to die to the fucking Taint.”

“Don’t die,” Carver said mockingly. “I didn’t realize it was that easy!”

It took them only a few hours of searching before Anders paused at an intersection of three tunnels. “I think they’re nearby.” Screeches echoed down the tunnel towards them, and Anders drew his staff. “Or it could be darkspawn.”

“You’re not getting him,” Hawke hissed, drawing her staff in her off hand. “Slaughter the bastards!”

Anders ducked as Hawke conjured a searing firestorm, blocking off one of the sections of the Deep Roads. The hurlocks screeched and writhed under the flames, some staggering free only to be struck down by Isabela’s blades. Fenris charged the other way, his blade carving through darkspawn armor as more hurlocks came from that direction. Varric kept close to Hawke, firing arrows as quickly as he could cycle Bianca, and Anders lobbed a lightning bolt, catching a hurlock that had nearly slipped past Fenris’s guard.

“Hold!” A voice shouted as the firestorm died out. “They’re not darkspawn.” A handful of men in silverite armor and blue tunics were on the other side of the scorch marks left by the firestorm, and a truly impressive amount of dead darkspawn were behind them.

“Oh, here we go,” Anders said softly. “Fancy meeting you here, Stroud.”

Stroud was a tall man, his skin tanned dark, and a truly impressive moustache covering most of his lower face. “Anders,” he said. “I thought you were through fighting darkspawn.”

“I’m not here to fight darkspawn,” Anders insisted. “I came looking for you.” He gestured to Hawke, who staggered forward, still supporting Carver’s weight.

“You…mean the boy as a recruit?” Stroud didn’t seem surprised. “Of course you do. I’m sorry. I know this comes as no comfort to you, but we do not recruit Grey Wardens out of pity. It is no kindness.”

“Neither is dying of the Blight,” Hawke snapped. “Can you make him a Warden or not?”

“Stroud, trust me when I say this one is worth your time,” Anders pleaded. “With the Blight over, you Wardens don’t have recruits lining up.”

“This is no simple thing, Anders. This may be as much a death sentence as the sickness, and you know it.”

“He’ll die anyway,” Anders said. “Take him and try. I’m asking you.”

“If the boy comes, he comes now, and you may not see him again,” Stroud said. “Being a Grey Warden is not a cure. It is a calling.”

“Are you sure about this?” Carver asked faintly.

“I’m not sure about anything, but I want you to live,” Hawke said.

“We must move quickly if we are to make the surface in time,” Stroud said to his Wardens.

“Then I guess this is it,” Carver slurred. “Take care of Mother.”

“Will I even know if he survives?” Hawke asked.

“If he does, he'll be a Warden,” Stroud said stiffly.

“Dana,” Carver mumbled. “Take the victories where you can get them.” Hawke grimaced as he quoted her. “I'll make it. You have to get back to Mother.” Stroud took Carver’s other arm, supporting his weight.

“Good luck, Carver,” Varric said.

“About time you got my name right,” Carver grumped as he was carried away.

—ROTC—

They were filthy, tired, and hungry, but Hawke had been all of those things before. Kirkwall came into view, and Hawke felt a mix of relief and dread surge inside her as they entered through the western gate.

“Home, sweet home,” Varric said. “Finally. I wonder if Bartrand came back to the city. You think I’d be that lucky?”

“Just make sure you let me know when you find him,” Hawke growled.

“Trust me, you’ll be the first to know,” Varric promised. “I’m sorry about what happened to your brother.”

“He’ll make it,” Anders said. “Carver’s stronger than he thinks.”

“I should have seen Bartrand’s betrayal coming,” Varric groused. “I’ll find that maggot if it’s the last thing I do. I imagine you’ll be heading home to…tell the family?”

“I don’t have much choice,” Hawke said.

“You’ll be a wealthy woman, Hawke,” Varric said, passing over Carver’s pack. _He should have been here, carrying it_. “It wasn’t all for nothing.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Hawke said to herself as she mantled the steps to Gamlen’s shack. “Just mostly for nothing.”

She dropped both packs on the floorboards as she entered the shack, and Leandra came out from the bedroom at the noise. “Oh, my baby! You made it home!” She looked over Hawke’s shoulder, her face falling slightly. “Carver isn’t with you?” The look on Hawke’s face must have been her answer. “Is he…coming back?”

“I don’t know,” Hawke said softly. “He came down with Blight sickness. He joined the Grey Wardens, Mother. If he survives, he’ll be one of them.”

Leandra fell to her knees. “No.”

“He’ll make it,” Hawke said, trying to force some confidence into her voice.

Leandra broke into tears.

—ROTC—

“So the Champion’s brother was a Grey Warden,” Cassandra said.

“Yes, but that’s not the connection you’re looking for,” Varric said tiredly.

“Isn’t it?” Cassandra asked. “The involvement of the Grey Wardens makes perfect sense. And the Champion’s companions? Merrill, Aveline, Isabela, that Warden Anders. We thought they all came from Ferelden together, but now it makes sense. Motive and opportunity.”

“It’s still not what you think,” Varric insisted.

“Then I need to hear more.”

“You sure? I can always go if you don’t need me anymore.”

Cassandra glared at him. “Tell me what came next.”

Varric sighed, nodding. “The treasure we found in the Deep Roads made us a fortune. The Champion moved up in the world, literally. Got the family estate in Hightown back, moved her mother in. Everyone knew who she was now. Even the Viscount was taking notice. The Grey Wardens left Kirkwall, and it was months before we learned Carver survived. But three years later, the Qunari still hadn’t left. They insisted they were waiting for their ship, but some of us knew better…”

—ROTC—

“The compound was not meant to be permanent,” Seneschal Bran was saying. “There are concerns that the Qunari influence is…” He paused as Hawke entered the room. “No longer contained,” He finished.

“Was it ever?” Dumar asked. “Kirkwall has tension enough between Templar and mage, but these Qunari…” He stood. “They sit like gargoyles, waiting for Maker-knows-what, and everyone goes mad around them. Nearly four years I have stood between fanatics. And now this.”

“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Hawke said dryly, standing with her arms crossed.

“Leave us,” Dumar said to Bran. The Seneschal’s face managed to sour further, but he left, not looking at Hawke. “Meredith at my throat, Orsino at my heels, and a city scared of heretical giants. Balance has held because the Qunari ask for nothing. Even the space in Lowtown was a ‘gift’ to contain them. But now, the Arishok has requested you. By name. What did you do?”

Hawke leaned back slightly, tilting her head. “I got his attention a couple times. Apparently I impressed him, but that was years ago. I guess he’s been less than impressed with whoever else he’s been dealing with.”

“It makes no sense,” Dumar admitted, “And it doesn’t matter. I just need them quiet. I remember how you helped my son. It seems you are meant to have influence above your station.” Hawke ignored that. “Speak to the Arishok, and give him what he needs to keep the peace. Can you do that for Kirkwall, Serah Hawke?”

“I’ve seen hate for the Qunari, but I haven’t heard anything major in years,” Hawke said.

“Zealots are bravest where their lies can’t be argued, behind closed doors,” Dumar lectured. “Chantry leaders see Qunari beliefs as a challenge, not an attack. But the message gets muddled among casual adherents. I am certainly not equipped to argue the finer points of faith.”

“Speaking of faith, how is your son?”

“He is his own man,” Dumar allowed, “but your actions tempered him somewhat. He is not so angry at the world. I thank you for that. I may not agree with him on many points, but I am proud of what he is becoming.”

“The Qunari usually arrive as conquerors, from what I’ve heard,” Hawke said. “Odd that this has gone on so long.”

“Very, and I have no interest in antagonizing them. That is partially why I suffer being a messenger today. A treaty exists, and it has been honored. Although…”

“You have doubts,” Hawke finished.

“They claim they’re waiting for a second ship, but it has been three years. They want something else.”

“Why not expel the Qunari?”

“They will not leave, and we don’t have the resources to force the issue.” Both of them knew why, but even in the highest seat of Kirkwall, they knew better than to actually say it. “At least, not in a way that would leave the city intact. If the had come to conquer, I suspect they would have done so.”

“Any idea what I can expect?”

“None,” Dumar sighed. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve heard two direct words from the Arishok. Other than his rather deliberate phrasing of ‘begone.’ If you think his asking me to notify you of this is strange, well…you would be right.”

“I’m willing to assist,” Hawke finally said.

“That is an attitude this city has lacked for a long time,” Dumar replied. Hawke bit back the retort that it all flowed down from the top. “Appease the Arishok. Take his demand and let him return to dormancy. As awkward as this has been, it is better than the alternative.”

“To be sure.” Dumar nodded a farewell, and Hawke departed, nearly running into a young man on her way out of the Viscount’s office. “Saemus!”

“You’re here rather often, Serah Hawke,” Saemus said warmly. “A good influence, I think. Even by not taking sides, you helped start something. I still accept no blame for defending Qunari. And I don’t miss the kinship of the people who oppose what I believe.”

“The Arishok asked for me,” Hawke said. “I think they’re a headache, but so are many people.”

“Then you’ve already treated them with more grace than most,” Saemus replied. “Mere existence should not be an offense – no matter how they challenge the Chantry.”

“You’re very idealistic,” Hawke commented. “I wish I had your optimism.”

“One has to be optimistic in dark times,” Saemus said. “And it may be unpopular, but I find it difficult not to at least empathize with the Qunari, especially when some of their ideas are so…compelling.”

Hawke barely managed to hide her wince as the thought of the Saarebas they had encountered resurfaced. “I imagine the ‘certainty’ the Qun claims to offer must seem appealing to some, but I don’t feel the same draw towards it you do. Another time, Saemus.”

“Another time,” Saemus agreed. “When things are better.”

Cutting across the interior of the Keep, Hawke entered the guard’s barracks. “We’ll need to give them answers by tomorrow, Captain,” a guard was saying to Aveline.

“I’ll have them,” Aveline replied. “Dismissed.”

“The seneschal was particularly vocal-”

“Dismissed,” Aveline repeated. The guard nodded, leaving without another word. “You’d think the captain of the guard could requisition a Templar or two, but no, that would be demeaning,” she groused. “Can’t have them working for the people when eternity needs a nanny.”

“You had to know cleaning up this mess would be difficult,” Hawke said.

“It’s not the challenge, it’s the unending part,” Aveline replied. “And really, I blame you.” Hawke raised an eyebrow, trying not to visibly bristle at Aveline’s words. “You poured money into a pot that was already full. Everything has shifted. Good job validating the fears of every anti-Fereldan in Kirkwall.”

“I didn’t realize I was making it worse by getting ahead,” Hawke said acidly. “And I’m sure that your becoming Guard Captain was very reassuring to them.”

“I’m just harassing you,” Aveline said. “Although you are a bit like the center of a hurricane. You’ve changed fortunes for many people. Not always for the better.”

“Sounds like you’re spreading yourself pretty thin.”

“There are a lot of people in my charge,” Aveline admitted. “Someone has to look out for them.”

“You guard the guardsmen?”

“I don’t turn people loose like Jeven. There’s additional training, doubled patrols. Costs are up, but I’ve halved injuries. I’ll take it, and argue with Seneschal Bran later.”

“After Jeven, you can’t have expected this to be easy.”

“At least I had the guards on my side. Once they understood, they rallied. And those who didn’t weren’t fit to hold to the crest. Stack friends against the enemies, I don’t know if I came out ahead, but it’s for the better.”

“Sounds like you’ve changed fortunes for many people,” Hawke said. “Not always for the better.”

“Cute,” Aveline replied.

“If it’s such a problem, the door is right there,” Hawke said, pointing. “I’d offer you a job, but you don’t follow orders.”

Aveline gave her a grim smile. “Working for you has its appeal, but that’s not really me, is it? Besides, you’re not the worst thing on the street. I have to split my time where I’m needed. I’m here if you need me, Hawke.”

“Not at the moment,” Hawke said. “You heard about the Arishok?”

“Everyone’s heard,” Aveline snorted.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think taking a guardsman along would be such a great idea. I’m a neutral party here, I suppose that’s why he asked for me.”

Bodahn caught up to her outside the Keep. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you, messere. If only you humans didn’t all look the same!” Between Varric and Bodahn, they had found buyers for almost all of the haul from the Deep Roads expedition. “I came to deliver a message – we’ve sold the last of the artifacts you recovered from the Deep Roads, and the proceeds have been delivered to your estate.”

“That’s great news, Bodahn,” Hawke said. “With the way Mother’s been filling up that estate, we’ll need the funds.”

“Speaking of which, may I simply say how grateful I am that you’ve allowed my boy to stay in your home? I said I would repay you for saving Sandal’s life, and I shall serve you faithfully. It is good to know he is safe.”

“Bodahn, I didn’t ask you to be my manservant,” Hawke said. “Besides, aren’t you a merchant by trade? Wouldn’t serving me keep you from your business?”

“Hardly,” Bodahn said. “Since the expedition, I’ve moved from selling directly to managing. I was actually looking for something to do with my time. Besides, I owe you a debt, and after what happened in the Deep Roads, I have no better way to repay you.” She thanked him for the message and he departed at a brisk walk, and Hawke cut across Hightown, looking for the closest thing she had to an expert on the Qunari.

Isabela was inside the mansion, chatting with Fenris. “So the seneschal’s tax collector won’t be coming around again, like you asked. Funny story.”

“I’ll pass, but thank you for the help,” Fenris said with a faint smile.

“Spoilsport,” Isabela pouted. “Why you want to squat up here in Hightown is beyond me.”

“I like the view,” Fenris said.

Isabela smirked, looking him over. “So do I.” She stood and left, winking at Hawke as she passed.

“Three years,” Fenris said softly as Hawke sat in Isabela’s recently vacated seat. “There’s still no sign of Danarius. I’m beginning to wonder if he’s finally given up.”

“This is his mansion, isn’t it?” Hawke asked. “He must know you’re here.”

“Would you be surprised to learn that it isn’t, in fact, his mansion?” Hawke raised an eyebrow. “It belongs to a Tevinter merchant, one who has evidently given up on the place. Perhaps he is dead. Perhaps Danarius killed him. Either way, if Danarius is aware of my presence, he has done nothing.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“Yes, but…” He paused. “Tell me, what do you do when you stop running?”

“You start over. Isn’t that what you want?”

“I don’t know how,” Fenris admitted. “My first memory is receiving these markings, the lyrium being branded into my flesh. The agony wiped away everything, and still persists.”

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait wait wait.” Hawke held up a hand. “Are you telling me those markings _still hurt_?”

“Every waking moment,” Fenris said quietly.

Hawke stared at him for a moment, her mouth slightly open. “No _wonder _you're always so grumpy. I…is there any way to remove them?”

“None that I would accept that would not kill me,” Fenris replied.

Hawke sighed. “Damn. Well, there are pain relieving herbs…you really don’t remember anything?”

“Whatever life I had before I became a slave…it’s lost.” He stood up, pacing the room. “But I shouldn’t trouble you with this. My problems are not yours.”

“You’re my friend, Fenris,” Hawke said softly. “Your problems _are _my problems.” Fenris smiled at that, and Hawke tilted her head. “You don’t know who you were?”

“Fenris was the name Danarius bestowed upon me, his ‘little wolf.’ If I once had another name, or a family…then they were taken from me. But enough. You have much to keep you busy, I’m certain.”

“I actually do,” Hawke admitted. “Which is why I came here. The Arishok has requested my presence. I doubt it was phrased that way, but I could use someone who knows the Qunari at my back.”

Fenris grabbed his sword. “Lead the way, my friend.”

They made their way through Hightown, and Fenris sighed as they entered the Hanged Man. “Do you really want to appear before the Arishok reeking of beer?”

“No, but we’re not here for a drink.” She leaned on the bar next to her favorite raider. “Isabela. You look well.”

“Are you talking about the flush on my cheeks? It must be the whiskey.” Isabela waved for another drink. “Do you remember the relic I told you about? The one I need to find? I’ve been following a lead. I’m so close, I can taste it!”

“Isn’t that what you said last time?” Hawke asked.

Isabela had the decency to look guilty. “You mean when I went digging for that stash?”

“Yes, that turned out to contain several badly written poems and _an old boot_.”

“It could’ve contained the relic!” Isabela insisted. “I just thought I’d let you know that I may soon be taking you up on that offer of help.”

“You were with me in the Deep Roads, I’ll have your back,” Hawke promised. “But do I get a kiss from the feisty temptress when I present her with the hard-won prize?” Fenris rolled his eyes, downing Isabela’s drink.

“If you want, I’ll even let you choose where I plant it,” Isabela chuckled, squeezing Hawke’s hip.

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” Hawke replied. “I’m here for Varric, but you’re welcome to come along and meet the Arishok.”

“Pass,” Isabela sniffed, peering into her empty cup and wondering where her drink had gone. “I saw enough Qunari in Llomerryn.”

Varric was speaking to one of his legions of contacts in his suite. “Just tell me if you hear more rumblings from the Coterie about protection. Blondie’s got enough trouble.” The man nodded, leaving as Hawke entered. “Let me ask you something, Hawke,” Varric began. “You made it into Hightown. I’d expect anyone else to get complacent. But you…you must have plans.”

Hawke tilted her head. “Do I really strike you as someone who has a plan?”

Varric chuckled. “No, not really.”

“I’m just trying to look out for me and mine,” Hawke said.

“I suppose after that whole business with Carver, it’s a good idea to hang on to what you’ve got. To be honest, I thought there might be a chance you’d want to go back to Ferelden now that things have calmed down. It’s good to hear you’re sticking around.”

“What would I do without my trusty dwarf?” Hawke said. “I’d cry myself to sleep without you.”

“Oh, don’t get all teary-eyed on me, Hawke,” Varric quipped. “You know I can’t stand to see a human cry.”

“We got a job. The Arishok asked for me. By name. I need you there.”

“The Arishok doesn’t ask for anybody by name,” Varric said, shrugging on his duster. “This sounds big.”

“It’s the Arishok,” Hawke replied. “I don’t think he knows how to do small.”

They collected Fenris from a protesting Isabela and made for the docks, pausing just long enough to pick up Merrill from the Alienage.

“You are Hawke,” a Qunari at the gate said without preamble as they reached the compound. “A patrol went missing along the Wounded Coast. The Arishok says you have some semblance of honor. So tell me, did you kill them?”

“If I did kill them, why would I tell you?” Hawke evaded. “You’d just attack me.”

“I seek an answer to a question, ‘what has happened to the missing karataam?’ Vengeance is not relevant to this task.”

“I can’t be your only suspect. There’s Coterie, Carta, Templars, take your pick.”

“You think the bas in this city could fell a karataam? Hardly.” The Qunari stared impassively at her for a moment. “You are another matter. If you are not responsible, I waste my time here.”

“You think they’ve lost _another _patrol?” Hawke said as they entered the compound proper.

“Wasn’t me,” Varric said. “But this is not the time or the place.”

The Arishok was waiting for them from his seat on the bench. “Serah Hawke.”

“Arishok.”

“Last we met, I did not know your name,” the Arishok rumbled. “Did not care to. You have changed your fortune over the years. The Qunari have not. I offer a courtesy, Hawke. Someone has stolen what he thinks is the formula for gaatlok. You will want to hunt him.”

Hawke tilted her head. “Excuse me, but this sounds like quite the feat.”

“It was allowed,” the Arishok said flatly. “The stolen formula was a decoy. Saar-qamek, a poison gas, not explosives. A small amount is dangerous enough to your kind. But if made in quantity, perhaps by someone intending to sell it…”

“Crap,” Hawke breathed. “That merchant, Javaris?”

“Would he be cautious, or would he assume success and make enough to threaten a district?” The Arishok asked rhetorically. “A courtesy, Hawke. You will want to hunt him.”

“Varric,” Hawke said immediately.

“I heard about a sell-off,” Varric replied. “Merchant territories and such. They don’t do that unless someone left in a hurry. I’d have figured he rooked some noble. He’s sure not a burglar. We’ll have to ask the Coterie. I haven’t kept up on the squirt.”

“Arishok, how dangerous does this fake mixture become?”

“It is not a threat to Qunari,” came the reply. “For your kind, it is as dangerous as those who breathe it.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“The gas kills, but first it turns allies against their own in blind rage. So, the greater the skill of those sent against us, the more dangerous they become to their own people.”

“And you just leave this stuff laying around?” Hawke asked skeptically.

“We did not make it easy. Three Qunari died defending it. Enough to impart a sense of worth. If the real formula were at risk, the Qun would demand that we protect it to the last of us.”

“I appreciate you bringing this to me,” Hawke said.

“I have long thought this city would destroy itself. This would only hasten the inevitable. Panehedan, Hawke,” The Arishok said. “I do not hope you die.”

They headed for the nearest Darktown entrance, cutting across the docks. “So, I hear you've been visiting the viscount's garden, Daisy,” Varric said.

“They're enormous! And they're always empty. Why don't more people go to see them?”

Varric gave her a sidelong glance. “Probably because they're private and surrounded by guards.”

Merrill paused for a half-step. “I _thought_ all those men looked a bit cross.” Leading the group, Hawke swallowed a grin as Varric rolled his eyes.

He started in on Fenris next. “You know, if you need advice on how to lay low, I can give you some.”

Fenris glanced over. “Being short would make for an excellent start, I suspect.”

“Keep that up, serah, and you can keep on hiding like a rank amateur.”

Fenris scowled. “What would you suggest, Varric? Cower in the shadows like a rat?”

“You could try wearing something that didn't scream ‘I hate you all, I was a slave!’”

“The markings would still show,” Fenris said with a sigh.

Varric blinked in surprise. “Really? Through anything? That's...kind of cool.”

“Turn up your purses, Kirkwall,” a Coterie barker was calling. “The leases of Javaris Tintop are up for grabs!”

“That’s the lowlife we’re looking for,” Hawke said, approaching the woman. “You’re selling the assets of Javaris Tintop?”

“We are. Limited districts, limited contracts. Keeps territory clear and separate from the start. He had a meager lot, but he’s skipped with dues outstanding, so up it goes.”

“There’s a lot riding on finding Javaris, and quickly,” Hawke said. “Can you help?”

“The members of our little fellowship expect privacy,” the barker warned, “but he skipped out on paying me, too. Javaris left in a hurry. I’d put him at Smuggler’s Cut, if he’s avoiding patrols. It empties at a cave outside town. Tell him I said ‘don’t come back,’ will you?”

“Not the trail I’d expect from a master thief,” Varric said as they walked away. “Just saying.”

“Me neither,” Hawke agreed. “And Javaris stole the formula? I’m just surprised he had the stones to do it.” She turned on her heel. “We need Anders,” Hawke said as they cut back across Darktown. “If Javaris really did make some of this gas, we’ll need a healer.”

“Don’t come running to me next time you pick up one of these diseases,” Anders was saying with a smirk.

“Isn’t that the point of magic?” Isabela asked.

“Do I want to know?” Hawke asked from the door.

“Cleaning up an old pirate captain's complaint,” Anders said. “Bloodshot hips.” Isabela headed for the exit, and Anders shook his head. “Things just keep getting worse. I had Templars practically on my doorstep the other night.”

Hawke’s eyes widened. “The Templars are hunting you?”

Anders shook his head. “Not me specifically, they were just checking the refugee camps. But it’s not like this place is a secret. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Anders,” Hawke asked carefully. “Your clinic. Do you have any sort of an escape route if the Templars come knocking?”

The mage shifted uncomfortably. “Not really, no. There are places to hide, but they’re all in Darktown.”

Hawke nodded. “Very well.” Fishing around in a pocket, she pressed a key into the healer's hand. “There's a route from a hidey-hole slavers used to use that's right near here, into the basement of our estate. You need to make a break for it, you use that.” She paused a moment. “And if you need a place to sleep, you go there. We'll set something up. I mean, you work in a sewer, that doesn't mean you have to _live_ there.”

“You’re taking a great risk by offering to shelter me like that,” Anders said.

“Anders, I owe you,” Hawke said. “My brother would have died in the Deep Roads if not for you. A place to stay isn’t much to repay that. We’ll get you a proper bed, get you set up.”

Anders swallowed hard. “I suppose that’ll keep burglars out of your basement, as well.”

Hawke took Anders’ hand, squeezing it. “We walk in the dark, but that doesn't mean we have to walk in it alone. It’ll give you some privacy, a place of your own.”

Anders looked down at the key in his hand. “Maybe I’ll get another cat.”

Hawke smiled. “We haven’t talked much recently. How have you been?”

“Good,” Anders said with mock cheer. “I just love what Knight-Commander Meredith’s done with the place. The curfews, the midnight raids on mages’ families. Everyone I know, forced into hiding so they won’t be made Tranquil.”

“Is that…making it harder for you?” Hawke asked. “With Justice?”

“In the Fade, there’s no concept of ‘time,’ and emotion rules everything,” Anders explained. “Mages visit in their sleep, but you would have to live there to understand. Justice doesn’t know how to sit idle and wait until the right moment to strike. And I can’t say I have any greater patience. I fear what my anger has made of my friend.”

“You chose to merge with him,” Hawke said softly. “Only you can make it work.”

“I am trying,” Anders said. “I have not attacked the Templars openly. I’ve helped the mages here as best I can. But this impasse cannot last. One day, everyone in Kirkwall will have to choose a side.”

“That’s what worries me,” Hawke said softly.

“The Templars are getting twitchier than usual,” Anders said. “Their own men undergo weekly questioning, and they aren’t hiring out work anymore.” He smirked faintly. “I even hear they’re having trouble maintaining their recruitment quotas.”

Hawke nodded. “Any idea how they’re looking at the Qunari?”

Anders shrugged. “Typical Chantry dogma – the Qunari are heathens, they’ll stop at nothing less than the eradication of the Chantry, blah blah blah. They’re the largest force in the city, though. If things with the Qunari do come to a head, they’ll be the only proper resistance the Arishok will face.”

“Speaking of the Arishok, there’s been developments. You remember Javaris, that idiot dwarf who wanted the Qunari’s explosive powder? He stole the formula for a poison gas from the Qunari. We need your help.”

Anders’ eyes widened. “How in the world did he get his hands on that?”

“When we find him, we’ll ask,” Hawke said.

They found Isabela talking with Varric outside the clinic. “I was drunk,” the pirate was saying. “I thought the reefs around the Wounded Coast were made of candy.”

Varric sighed. “Oh, come on.”

“And a demon told me to do it. It bet me sixty sovereigns and a bottle of port.” She grinned. “You're not the only one here who can bullshit, you know.”

Varric clicked his fingers, catching her attention. “Rivaini, stop looking at my chest. My eyes are up here.”

Isabela groaned. “But the _chest hair_...”

“Do you know how much I suffer under your gaze? I am a person, not an object!”

Isabela raised an eyebrow. “Uh, Varric?”

Varric barked out a laugh. “Just shitting you.” He paused. “Maybe. I'll let you run your fingers through it, if you want.”

“Your chest hair? My fingers? Oh, Varric, stop! You're making me quiver.”

Varric thrust out his chest. “You know you want to.”

“Oh, I do... I can't resist you. No woman can.”

Varric sighed. “I know. It's a terrible burden.”

“If I might interrupt,” Hawke said, trying to scrub the last several seconds from her memory, “we need to go. Isabela, you coming?”

“Varric gave me the news,” Isabela said, nodding. “Let’s go. I know the way to Smuggler’s Cut.”

With Isabela guiding them through the old tunnels, they cut down a pack of Carta thugs that didn’t take the opportunity to leave quietly after Hawke set four of their number on fire. More packs of the Carta’s thugs were between them and the exit, but with virtually the entire group together the fighting was one-sided.

“Up ahead,” Isabela said, pointing at a set of stairs that emerged into daylight.

Mercenaries were waiting for them on the other side, but the hired blades didn’t put up much more of a fight than the piles of dead Carta members Hawke’s group had left in their wake.

Javaris was cowering as the last mercenary fell, and he raised his hands pleadingly as Hawke approached. “Calm yourself, Javaris. You’re not dead yet.”

Javaris’s face darkened as he recognized Hawke. “You? Granny’s garters, she would hire you. I can’t buy a break on discount! You know what? Go ahead. Take my head and pike it back to that sodding elf! I need the rest.”

“The Qunari powder, it’s not what you think,” Hawke warned. “It’s poison.”

“Wait, you’re tracking for the Qunari? Then she did it, that elf got them after me for nothing! Bitch-burn!”

“Ah, I knew he was no burglar,” Varric crowed. “We’re not climbers.”

“Somebody want to fill me in here?” Hawke asked.

Javaris sighed. “Look, I’m minding business, same old, and out of the blue some elf tries to kill me. Says she’s got the Qunari powder and I’m her cover. I slipped her, hired some bodyguards, and ran for it.”

Hawke looked at the corpses nearby, feeling a touch guilty. “And those would be…”

“The men you just killed, yes,” Javaris said acidly. “An elf with explosives wants me dead. Part two, the Qunari may think I’m a thief and also want me dead. I’m trying to get out of town, and all the men I had hired on to help me do that are now dead. Does any part of this situation sound good to you?”

“Do you know anything about this elf?”

“You want to drag dark into light? Fine. I had a man follow her. Probably the only one I hired that’s still breathing. The elf’s in Lowtown.” He handed over a slip of vellum with an address scrawled on it. “Good luck to you.”

“I’d suggest getting as far away from here as you can,” Hawke said. “Better luck wherever you wind up.”

“Right,” Javaris sighed. “Got me a rosy future to plan out. Think I’ll start by selling some boots.” He began stripping the corpses of valuables, setting their boots aside as he muttered under his breath.

—ROTC—

“Aveline,” Hawke said as they entered the alley.

Aveline looked unsure whether to be glad Hawke was there or not. “I take it you know what’s going on here.”

“Short version is an elf stole a Qunari formula for poison gas. Framed a dwarf for it.”

“All of you, I can’t fight the damned air!” A guard was saying, blocking entrance to the hex to several angry citizens. “You want to live, stay out!”

“What’s going on, Maecon?” Aveline asked.

“Guard-Captain! There’s…I can’t even describe…”

“On your time, son,” Aveline said gently.

“Reports of some haze with the stench of rust, and…throw-up. There was a cloud, then a…lingering mist. Anyone caught in the cloud just went mad. Then the others retched themselves dead.”

“All right, keep your post,” Aveline ordered. “We’ll take it from here.”

“You will?” Maecon asked, relieved.

“We will?” Hawke asked.

“He’s a good man,” Aveline said as they moved past the guard. “Trust that it’s as bad as he says.”

Hawke looked into the alley, grimacing at the eerie greenish fog hanging low over the ground. “How about we skip this one?” she asked. “Send your man instead?”

“How about I shove a canary up your coal mine?” Aveline said. “Let’s go.”

“Anders, can you do anything about the gas?” Hawke asked.

“Maybe,” the healer said nervously. “I wouldn’t advise getting too close to that mist.” He drew his staff. “I can try freezing it, or burning it off…” He cast a burst of frost into the mist, the mist freezing into a carpet of green ice crystals that crunched underfoot. “Cover your mouths, don’t breathe too deeply,” he warned. Hawke tugged Bethany’s scarf from her belt, tying it over her mouth and nose.

“Where’s the gas coming from?” Aveline asked, holding a rag over her mouth with her shield hand.

“Those barrels,” Varric said, his sash tied around his lower face. “Come on, my throat’s burning.”

“This stuff shouldn’t be too dangerous at low concentrations,” Anders mumbled, hosing down the mist with more frost. “Right? I mean, you’d have to breathe a certain amount to get the effects.” He paused over a corpse, checking for breathing. “Maker take you into his arms, madam.”

“Anders, it’ll be all right,” Hawke said soothingly. “Can you clear us a path to that barrel?” Kneeling, she fished a metal latch out of the green snow, holding her breath and forcing the lid shut on the gas barrel.

“That’s one, but there’s more,” Isabela said, her hair flowing freely and her bandanna over her mouth. “I…oh, come on!” Mercenaries were storming into the hex, their faces covered and weapons drawn. Killing them amidst the gas was tricky, and Hawke fished another latch off of the leader’s corpse and shut the next barrel. Anders simply froze the next barrel solid, before shattering it in a burst of gas that dissipated all too quickly to be natural.

“Sorry,” Merrill said, lowering her staff. “Dalish magic. I blew it into the sky.”

“Won’t it have to come back down?” Hawke asked.

Merrill nodded. “Yes, but by then it’ll have spread out enough it won’t hurt anyone.”

“Sounds like a plan. Can you do it again to that last – look out!” She pulled Merrill out of the way of an arrow, Varric returning fire and pinning a mercenary to the wall.

“Enough!” An elf carrying a greatsword bellowed as the last mercenary fell. Anders ignored her, freezing the last barrel.

“Easy,” Hawke said soothingly, tugging Bethany’s scarf off her face as the barrel shattered, Merrill blowing the gas away. “I’m just trying to find out what happened.”

“Is that?” The elf smirked. “Serah Hawke! You have enemies. I’m glad it’s you, really. These poor people. You are a much better target.”

Hawke took a half-step back. “Care to explain your particular brand of crazy?”

“Qunari take my people,” The elf spat. “My siblings forget their culture, then go to the Qun for purpose. We’re losing them twice! So I get help from your people. We’ll take the Qunari thunder, make some accidents, and make them hated! But this, this is all wrong.”

“The Qunari don’t need help being hated,” Hawke said.

“This can still work,” the elf said, more to herself than to Hawke. “They are hidden in your city. They’ll enrage the faithful, and make sure the Qunari are blamed! Me, I’m finished. I just need a few more bodies. A few more!” She choked as an arrow sprouted from her throat, and Varric cocked Bianca again, scowling.

“There’s spinning stories, and then there’s being crazy,” he growled. “Guess which this is.”

“The Arishok was right…and wrong,” Aveline said. “He’ll need to know about this.”

“Can you handle things here?” Hawke asked. “This stuff isn’t dangerous to Qunari, but everyone else…it’s not healthy.” She looked at the corpses strewn around. “As you can tell.”

“I’ll clean this up,” Aveline agreed. “But this…this won’t go quietly, Hawke.”

Hawke nodded, leading her other companions back towards the docks. “I wouldn’t expect it to.”

—ROTC—

“So, I was wrong about our thief,” the Arishok said.

“It appears so.”

“They say we were careless with our trap, that this is _our_ fault. But even without the saar-qamek, there would have been death. This elf was determined to lay blame at our feet. I admire conviction with a focus, but your kind are truly committed to weakness.”

“That ‘weak’ elf made a good effort at using your own weapon against you,” Hawke pointed out.

“We have but one weapon – the certainty of the Qun. It cannot be used against us. And it doesn’t matter – I am not here to fight; I am here to satisfy a demand you cannot understand.”

“It’s been a long time,” Hawke said softly.

“It will take as long as needed!” the Arishok snapped. “No ship is coming. There is no rescue from duty to the Qun. I am stuck here.” He made no attempt to hide the disgust in his voice or in his expression.

Hawke swallowed hard. “That is not the understanding of city leaders and their…supporters.”

“Let them rot. Filth stole from us – not now, not the saar-qamek – years ago. A simple act of greed has bound me!” He came to his feet and Hawke nearly reached for her staff. “We are all denied Par Vollen until I alone recover what was lost under my command! That is why this elf and her shadows are unimportant. That is why I do not simply walk from this pustule of a city. Fixing your mess is not the demand of the Qun, and _you should all be grateful_!” For a moment he stood there, before turning and sitting down again, not looking at them. “Thank you, human, for your service,” he said in an oddly flat voice. “Leave.”

Anders' voice was low as they filed out of the compound. “He's on the edge. The Viscount should know.”

“Right,” Hawke sighed. “And I’m just going to love being the one to tell him. Isabela, Fenris, you can head back to the Hanged Man, we’ll meet you there. Anders, Varric, Merrill, come on.”

The woman was waiting right where Hawke expected her to be. “What you need, love? Package delivery?”

“I’m Hawke. I got a letter from some mage friends.”

The woman smiled slyly. “Check the back of the board for our ‘special’ rates.”

“The collective looks out for their own,” Anders said softly.

“Anders, isn’t it?” the woman said. “You just can’t stay away from Amells, can you?”

“It would seem not,” Anders sighed.

“Helping apostates is dangerous,” Hawke interjected. “If the Templars caught you…”

“One of my sisters is a mage,” the woman said. “A gentle child, so generous. She was made Tranquil last year. Templars claimed she was a danger. Now, it’s like she’s not there. That shouldn’t be forced on anyone.”

“I won’t stand by while mages suffer,” Hawke said, not noticing Anders’s smile next to her.

“Bless you, love. The board has all the details. Should you take care of something, just drop by.”

Hawke snagged both notices from the board, nodding to the woman.

—ROTC—

“You’ve settled in nicely,” Aveline said from the main hall as Hawke exited her room.

“It’s been hard work to get here,” Hawke replied.

“Indeed. Still, more coin never hurts, right? Say, if someone wanted to pass some work your way?”

“I’m listening, Aveline. What’s the trouble?”

“A thorn in my side inventing trouble and scaring people. Remember Emeric? The Templar?” Hawke nodded. “He wants your help and some sort of official sanction for his ‘investigation.’ He’s convinced that every random murder in the past few years is connected, and he won’t be quiet.”

“So investigate it,” Hawke said. “If nothing turns up, you can tell him to lay off.”

“I have,” Aveline sighed. “He even convinced one of my lieutenants to raid the DuPuis mansion. Nothing there. You wouldn’t believe how much ass I had to kiss after that. Bloody hobbyist constable.”

“If you’ll remember, I filled that same job description for a while,” Hawke pointed out. “It seems like it should be easy to prove if there are bodies.”

“Kirkwall isn’t the safest place,” Aveline insisted. “That doesn’t mean everything terrible is related. There’s no sense to that. Can’t be.”

“I seem to recall he had some good leads,” Hawke said.

“Then you won’t mind chasing his threads. If it leads somewhere, I’ll pick it up. Right now, he’s just distracting my men. He’s in the Gallows. Do what you can.” Hawke nodded again, her eyes dark. “Thanks, Hawke. I’ll try not to make a habit of this.”

“Distracting her men,” Hawke growled as she left. “From what? Investigating murders is _literally_ her job.”

“Perhaps she knows you can do it better,” Leandra said from the door to her chambers.

“Mother,” Hawke greeted. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You didn’t,” Leandra reassured her. “It’s strange, living here again. My childhood home, now owned by my child.” She had done most of the work in refurnishing the estate, purchasing the furniture and ordering the necessary repairs. Any trace of the slavers’ occupation had been removed, and the Amell coat of arms was replaced once more above the fireplace in the main room. Leandra had only taken a small chamber off the main hall that Hawke had concluded had been her childhood bedroom, leaving the master suite for Hawke to take herself.

It was different from how Lothering ever could have been, but it was leagues beyond Gamlen’s shack in Lowtown. Fenris and Isabela had declined rooms so far, both preferring their current accommodations to moving in with Hawke, though both visited occasionally. In the end, Gamlen had refused to come back to the estate, glad to have his own house back to himself. Hawke had quietly squared some of his remaining debts. Bodahn had claimed some space on the lower floor of the estate to run his business and house himself and his son, which was fine by Hawke. It seemed as though the place echoed too much as it was. Perhaps it was just Hawke wishing her siblings were in the other rooms.

“It’s not something I could have imagined when I was a little girl staring out the window,” Leandra went on. “I’m still grateful you used your money from the expedition to buy back the estate. I feel like an Amell again.” Leandra Amell had defied her family to elope with an escaped Circle Mage, and her ‘disgrace’ had marked the beginning of the downfall of the Amells. Leandra’s cousin Revka gave birth to several mage children, followed by Revka’s brother being accused of smuggling and Hawke’s great-uncle Fausten had gone bankrupt seeking legal protection for the family. Hawke’s grandparents had died in a cholera epidemic, leaving all the debts and troubles to Gamlen.

With the estate reclaimed, the debts settled, and a relatively steady source of income in the Bone Pit and Hawke’s various ventures, the immediate concerns were handled. Hawke was left to decide for the first time in her life what to do with herself.

“I’m going to make the name ‘Hawke’ one to be proud of in this city,” Hawke declared.

“I don’t doubt it,” Leandra said. “Your father would have said that with that exact look, too. I just wish we could all be together as a family one more time.”

“Bethany would have hated it here,” Hawke said softly. “But Carver…Carver could finally have lived for himself.”

“I can’t spend the rest of my life mourning Bethany and Carver,” Leandra said. “They’re gone and I can’t bring them back.” She shrugged. “I guess I just need to start picking you out a suitable husband.”

Hawke paled slightly. “I…er…Mother…”

Leandra laughed. “I’m joking, Dana. But I’ve been wondering if I shouldn’t remarry.”

Hawke blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“I’ve heard that pirate girl of yours talk,” Leandra said with a smile. “I’m sure the last thing you need is your mother watching over your shoulder every time you come home. But perhaps there is still life once your children have outgrown you.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” Hawke said slowly. “You deserve any joy you can find.”

“Thank you, love. No one could ever replace your father. But it is refreshing to think I could still be courted at this age.”

There was a tugging at her elbow, and Hawke jumped, looking down to see Sandal holding out a runestone. “Boom!” The dwarf said gleefully.

“Thank you,” Hawke said sincerely, holding the rune gingerly. “Is this…safe?”

“There he goes again,” Bodahn said from the door. “How he makes these things I’ll never know.”

“I’ve never seen another dwarf like him,” Hawke replied, pocketing the rune. “Does this run in your family?”

“Not at all, but Sandal isn’t really my son. I found him in the Deep Roads when I left Orzammar for good. Raised him as my own, though.” He slung an arm around Sandal’s shoulders. “Isn’t that right, my boy?”

“I like Bodahn,” Sandal replied.

“He’s always been this way,” Bodahn continued. “Always collecting things and enchanting them. Strange, I suppose.”

“Have you ever thought of finding out more?” Hawke asked.

“Well, I did,” Bodahn said. “I brought him to the Circle of Magi about a year after we got to the surface. They called him a savant, but then they started giving him the eye like they were going to keep him. SO we left. Not going back to those vultures. Sandal’s happy as he is.”

“Sandal’s quite useful to have around,” Hawke said. “I’m grateful to have him here.”

Bodahn nodded. “That he is, or so I’ve always said. Maker knows what’ll happen when I’m gone. I try not to think about it.”

Hopper came up and snuffled at Sandal’s hand, and the dwarf laughed. “I like the doggie!” Hopper barked, and Sandal barked back, the two exchanging barks for several seconds.

“Is he…talking with my dog?” Hawke asked quietly as Hopper bounced about happily.

“Looks like they’re having a nice chat,” Bodahn said. “Maybe Sandal picked up some mabari-speak from our time at the Hero of Ferelden’s camp.”

—ROTC—

“Years of nice, quiet anxiety gone, along with a whole street,” the viscount said.

“The Qunari were blameless.”

“Right.” The viscount heaved a sigh. “A mad elf, pushed by zealots, likely hidden in the very groups I have to appease. The Maker has a grand sense of humor. And the Arishok – I suspected he had no plans to leave. I didn’t know it was just as annoying for him.”

“Someone is going to get backed into a corner eventually. Keep the worst of them off his back and it will be all right.”

“But that is the problem. It has already escalated, despite your efforts. A shame.”

“What happened?”

“A Qunari delegate and entourage paid me a visit. It was civil, tentative. Hopeful. They left my chambers with precision, but were not reported by the outer guard. They are missing almost literally from my doorstep. What, do you imagine, will be the Arishok’s reaction?”

Hawke winced. “Do the Qunari generally keep you updated?”

“Qunari do not disappear,” the viscount insisted. “They know we watch, and they are not shy about their movement. Speak to Seneschal Bran. He has details that show how damning this is.”

They found Bran waiting outside, his usual disinterested expression firmly in place. “You have information about the missing Qunari?”

“I am to help you, yes,” Bran said. “Viscount Dumar would appreciate discretion in this matter. _I _would prefer that you were not involved at all, but that is neither here nor there.”

“I’m having a hard time imagining the abduction of a Qunari entourage,” Hawke said. “They’re soldiers. Giant, well-trained soldiers who would take very pointy exception to being abducted.”

“Unfortunately, they were not at their best. Their swords were tied into their sheaths. As I advised. It seemed a respectful compromise. Even I know you cannot separate a Qunari from his weapon.”

Hawke pinched the bridge of her nose. “Has anyone reported this to the Qunari?”

“Maker, no,” Bran said hastily. “I’d be signing the messenger’s death warrant. He’ll find out soon enough, of course. And when he does, the viscount is rightly concerned that the illusion of peace will dissolve.”

“The Arishok _is _growing violent,” Hawke admitted. “He might want an excuse to end this peace.”

“I suspect that if the Arishok wanted to take over, he simply would. For all we fear that heretical Qun of his, its demands have done more to keep him in check than any of our efforts. Besides, would Qunari stoop to trickery? There is no precedent, but there is unfortunate evidence of influence on our side.”

“This is starting to sound like you don’t want them found,” Hawke said warily.

“I must think of what is best for the viscount’s office,” Bran replied. “Bringing attention to such an incident benefits no one.”

“So you would do nothing?”

“The Qunari are neutral hostiles at best. There is no relationship to salvage by overextending ourselves on their behalf.”

“Besides keeping them neutral, you mean,” Hawke sighed. “Let’s not overlook the fact that if they wanted to take the city, there’s little that anyone here could do to stop them.” Bran’s look soured, and Hawke changed tacks. “I’m sure you have suspicions about what happened.”

“My concerns are well-founded. This could not have escaped the notice of the city guard. Unless they were involved. Not coincidentally, a number of recent recruits have failed to report. You should start with one of them. Although where you would find a swordsman so eager to sell his honor and duty, I’m sure I don’t know.”

“The Hanged Man,” Anders said immediately.

“Hanged Man,” Varric seconded.

“No doubt,” Merrill agreed.

Bran stared at them a moment. “Right. Then you know what to look for. I can’t imagine this has occurred without notice. There is always a weak link. Please keep this quiet. The viscount is under enough scrutiny as it is.”

—ROTC—

_The Primeval Thaig  
Your Majesty,_

_It's difficult getting a straight answer out of the scavenger. These sods get themselves so blighted they can't think straight, much less keep spit in their mouths. He says, however, that he's gone down into parts of the Deep Roads that are so old that our people forgot them long before the Blight even happened._

_He spoke of great statues and temples--temples! He spoke of things that could have only been made of magic and of impossible ruins untouched by darkspawn. He described creatures the likes of which we've never seen._

_None of it's possible, of course. I've conferred with the Shaper and he says the Memories date back to the founding of the first thaig--what could have come before that? Yes, we're unable to explore these depths the scavenger spoke of because of the darkspawn, but surely the Memories would speak of such places if they existed._

_Yet in this scavenger's belongings, amidst all the filth, there was a single idol. It was clearly of dwarven make, but not resembling any Paragon on record. The idol was dressed in a manner I've never seen. The Shaper of Memories also could not identify it or the substance from which it was made. The thought that the Memories might be wrong is... unsettling._

_— Excerpt from a report sealed in the Orzammar royal archives by order of King Annalar Geldinblade in 8:48 Blessed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.


	14. Missing Qunari and Demon Deals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke tracks down the kidnapped Qunari and rescues a mage in need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Anders - After the Deep Roads  
In the past three years, Anders has become more reclusive, verging on paranoid. When not with the Champion, he spends his time among the Fereldan refugees in Darktown, healing their ills and counting on their loyalty to protect him from curious Templars. After his friend Karl was made Tranquil, then killed, Anders was convinced that the Chantry's entire structure must be overturned to free mages completely from their control. He has joined a group of like-minded apostates who are slowly wearing away Kirkwall's Circle by helping other mages escape. The spirit of Vengeance inside him has manifested more strongly, making it nearly impossible for him to control himself when fighting templars._

—ROTC—

Aveline was in the barracks as expected. “Hawke, I need a favor I can only trust to you.”

“Did you hear about the Qunari?”

“This is important,” Aveline insisted.

“Yeah, at least one of your men is on the take,” Hawke replied.

“It should be a small matter, but I worry. I need you to give something to Guardsman Donnic. Here, in the barracks. No questions, and he is not to know it’s from me.”

“You’re not listening, are you,” Hawke sighed. “Fine. Donnic? The one we pulled from an ambush?”

“The event that put me here,” Aveline replied. “But this is…a different need of the guard and its captain. And you’re doing very badly at the ‘no questions’ part.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I don’t report to you,” Hawke snapped. “You need me for something as simple as this when there’s kidnappers about?”

“I protect many people – citizens well beyond the men and women I command. But who do I really know besides you? Maybe we’re not friends, but who else do I have?”

“It must be something important if you’re going to all this trouble.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“That seems abrupt, even for you,” Hawke said, raising an eyebrow.

“I already regret this,” Aveline said. “I’m not about to make it worse by…exposing unnecessary facts. You can accept that or not, but that’s all I can say.”

Hawke gritted her teeth. “If this is what it takes to get you to focus on what’s important, very well.”

“Thank you. And please, hurry back with his reaction.” She passed over a wrapped package. “I appreciate this, Hawke, I really do.”

“Guardsman Donnic,” Hawke said a few moments later.

“Serah Hawke. It’s been some time,” Donnic greeted her. “You’re here in Hightown now, right? I think the captain mentioned it. I see your uncle now and then on my patrols but…we don’t talk.”

“This is for you,” Hawke said, holding out the package. “It’s apparently very important.”

“I’ll take you at your word.” Donnic unwrapped the package. “It’s a copper relief of…marigolds? And it helpfully says so. ‘Marigolds.’ Well. How crafty.” The two stared at each other a few moments. “Is there a meaning to this that I should know?”

“Tell me this wasn’t a waste of my time,” Hawke sighed.

“I can’t do that,” Donnic replied. “Right. I’m sure we both have things to do. Of varying import.”

“That was awkward,” Anders muttered as they crossed the barracks. “What was Aveline thinking?”

“You’re back,” Aveline said as they walked back in. “Of course you are. You’re efficient. Get things done. Good or ill. So, how did Donnic react?”

“As one might expect when confused?” Hawke asked.

“I thought it was clear. Metal is strong. Copper ages well. Flowers are soft.” Hawke tilted her head, wondering what insanity brought Aveline to that conclusion. “I’ve clearly gone about this the wrong way.”

“To say the least.”

“Don’ talk to him again. Just…take this.” She pushed a list across the desk at Hawke. “The patrols for next week. Post it to the roster and just…listen.”

“Really? Just walk over there and post the roster?” Hawke asked. “Just…right over there, a few steps from here?”

“I want his honest reaction without the captain present,” Aveline said.

“You could just have him hauled off,” Hawke sighed.

“This isn’t about an accusation I can put in a report and explain,” Aveline insisted. “I need someone…unofficial.”

“All right, but I’m starting to think you just like having me around,” Hawke grumbled.

“I need to know exactly how he reacts,” Aveline reminded her. “That’s key.”

“She’d do a lot better to just get this fellow alone in a room,” Anders said as they left her office. “Life’s too short.”

“You think this is her way of flirting?” Hawke asked incredulously.

“I’ve seen worse,” Anders admitted. “But not by much.”

“Hey Donnic,” Brennan called after perusing the freshly posted list. “Whose pucker have you been greasing to get Hightown?”

“What? You’re daft,” Donnic scoffed. “I’m working those skinnings across town.”

“Says here you’re guarding the square,” Brennan said. “Always been a make-work job, that one. You someone’s pet?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Donnic groaned. “What did I do to get that post?”

“Donnic thinks I’m punishing him?” Aveline asked as Hawke reported back. “But Hightown is a safe patrol. A reward.”

“You wanted his reaction,” Hawke said.

Aveline sighed. “All right, I can fix this. I need…I need three goats and a sheaf of wheat. You’ll take them to his mother.” Hawke tilted her head again. “It’s a dowry tradition. Maybe it will smooth the process.”

“Don’t be silly,” Merrill said brightly. “A dowry would only matter if you were courting him.”

“Merrill…”

Merrill gasped. “_You’re courting him!_”

“You know, there are important things I could be doing,” Hawke said. “I don’t appreciate being led around like this.”

“It’s not about you. It’s not about anyone. Just me. I’ve been focused on being captain for so long, that’s all I know.”

“It can’t be a complete mystery,” Anders said in exasperation. “You were married once, right?”

“That was…a long time ago,” Aveline replied. “It was easier. Or seemed to be. It’s just…fear. I know it’s foolish, but I can’t get away from it.”

“Well this little dance certainly isn’t helping,” Hawke said. “So what will?”

“I’m the captain. He’s my guardsman. I can’t get past that.”

“Being in the barracks doesn’t help,” Merrill offered. “Go someplace go somewhere you can talk.”

“What, just…go out somewhere? Like it’s that easy?”

Hawke gave her a _look_. “It is for everyone else!”

“Tell Donnic…invite him to the Hanged Man. Don’t tell him about me, make something up. It’s a surprise, or just you, or a group. Anything to get him there. He’s not like the others. I don’t want him to think he’s meeting the captain.”

“Not like I had anything important to do,” Hawke groused, crossing the barracks again. “Just the peace and stability of the city at stake.” She pasted a smile on her face. “Serah Donnic, are you free? I need to ask you something.”

“I have no immediate patrols. Why?”

“A night at the Hanged Man for all the guard,” Hawke bullshitted. “You’ll come? Of course you’ll come.”

“Should I have heard of this? Very well, Serah Hawke. I guess I’ll be there.”

“He’ll be there,” Hawke reported a moment later. “Now can we please focus on something important to the city at large?”

“Yes, yes, what is it?”

“The Qunari envoy to the city went missing from inside the Keep,” Hawke said. “Your men were involved. I need you to come to the Hanged Man anyway.”

—ROTC—

“What do you want, Hawke?” The Arishok demanded. “I have no interest in adding to my distraction.”

“And yet you sent a delegate to the viscount,” Hawke replied.

“A brief attempt to educate. If the dwarf had stolen the saar-qamek, it could have been used to show the price of greed. But you know the outcome of that. These fools are determined to be wrong. I won’t waste the effort again.”

“A courtesy, Arishok,” Hawke said, her gut tightening. “The delegate and his guards are missing.”

“Anyone else, and those words would have been their last,” the Arishok said. “You are handling this? Not your buffoon of a viscount?”

“Personally,” Hawke replied.

“Then I will wait. But know this – the provocations we have suffered have worked. If this is not resolved, I can fulfill my duty to the Qun with far less annoyance by sifting through rubble.”

“You know, I think we were under enough pressure without the help,” Merrill said dryly as they left the Qunari compound.

“Everybody else head over to the Hanged Man,” Hawke said. “Merrill, you had something to show me?”

A few minutes later, Hawke and Merrill were in the elf’s tiny house in the Alienage. “Come and see,” Merrill said eagerly. Hawke found the elf standing in front of a mirror. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“You’re prettier, but…something seems off about your mirror,” Hawke said, trying to find anything in the mirror. “Shouldn’t it reflect the room?”

“No, it’s not that sort of mirror.”

“Ah, of course,” Hawke said. “What?”

“I’ve spent the last few years restoring this. One of my clan found it in the Brecilian Forest, we think. Poor Tamlen. We never found him. Just the shattered pieces of the eluvian.”

“And this is an eluvian?” Hawke asked.

“Long ago, the elves had a kingdom,” Merrill explained. “An empire that covered Thedas. And every city had an eluvian. The mirrors let them communicate across their empire. But I don’t know how, exactly. My people have lost so much. We know almost nothing of the days before Arlathan. This is a piece of our history.”

“What are you trying to do with this?” Hawke asked.

“At first, I just wanted to find Tamlen,” Merrill said. “But it’s been too long. Tamlen is probably dead by now, if he wasn’t already. But still, I know it can help my people. I can at least recover this one small part of our heritage.”

Hawke made a few mental connections and frowned. “This thing is what made the Keeper send you away, isn’t it?”

“The Keeper wanted me to destroy the fragment I kept. She said our ancestors meant it to be forgotten. But it’s a Keeper’s place to remember! Even the dangerous things. We argued. I…left. She’s wrong. This mirror could teach us so much about who we once were!”

“Do you think the mirror had something to do with Tamlen’s disappearance?”

“The ruin we tracked Tamlen to was full of traps and monstrous things, but we found no body. His trail ended at the broken pieces of eluvian.”

“You’re an adult,” Hawke said. “I trust you when you say it’s safe.”

“It’s not dangerous, I promise,” Merrill insisted. “I fixed it. Or tried to. With blood magic. It won’t hurt anyone.”

“Explain, if you would,” Hawke said.

“The magic is simple,” Merrill replied. “But it’s…demanding. I didn’t have the lyrium I would need. I had blood. I tried to ask the Keeper, but she refused. She said it belonged to another time, and should remain there. So I found a spirit. It gave me the power to purify the mirror through blood magic. The power that contaminated the mirror was too strong to be driven out through normal means.”

“Magic is magic,” Hawke said. “It’s how you use it that matters. Merrill, I’m not criticizing you. I just want to know you’re safe.”

“I _am_,” Merrill said stubbornly. “It’s just…it doesn’t work. I’ve tried everything, and I think it’s because it needs to be finished with a special tool. An _arulin’holm_. And my clan has one. It’s been in their hands for generations…”

“But you’re afraid to face Keeper Marethari again,” Hawke finished.

“Exactly. You have no idea. The Keeper…I can’t talk to her. We fight or talk circles around each other. She has a disappointed frown that turns your bones to jelly! Please help me? You will, won’t you?”

“I’ll go with you,” Hawke promised.

“_Ma serannas_,” Merrill said gratefully. “I’ll find some way to repay you, I promise!”

—ROTC—

“You could get another cat, you know. There's one in the Lowtown market with a litter of kittens ready to wean.”

Anders rolled his eyes as Merrill discarded a pair of cards, ignoring Isabela nudging a set of cards towards him. “You don't pay attention to templars, Qunari or politics, but you notice kittens?”

“Templars, Qunari, and politics don't meow and attack your feet when you're buying food,” Merrill said.

Anders scratched his chin. “Are there any tabbies? I'd like a tabby.”

Isabela laid down her cards, and Merrill pouted. “Why do you always win at cards?” she asked.

“Because I cheat, Kitten,” Isabela said bluntly, scooping up the winnings. She frowned as she eyed something Merrill had bet. “This trinket, it’s elven, isn’t it? From your clan.” Merrill nodded. “Don’t bet anything you’re not prepared to lose. Here, have it back.” Hawke perched in the seat next to Merrill, and Isabela waved to the bartender. “A jigger of your finest whiskey for my friend over here!”

“I’ve had the finest here,” Hawke said. “I’m still tasting it.”

“The Hanged Man’s finest isn’t much, but it’ll get you just as drunk as anything you’ll find in Hightown,” Isabela replied.

“That’s generous of you.”

“What’s coin for if not for spending, eh?”

“You could save up to buy yourself a new ship,” Hawke pointed out.

“There you go, ruining our fun with good sense,” Isabela sighed. “I thought I’d have to watch myself around you, but as it turns out, you’re all right.”

“That’s mildly insulting, you know,” Hawke said.

“You know what I mean,” Isabela huffed. “You don’t judge people. You’re not afraid to get your hands dirty. You know, little things like that.”

“I’m also devastatingly attractive and witty,” Hawke replied.

“If I had someone like you onboard my ship when the…when the storm hit, maybe we wouldn’t have been shipwrecked.”

“Maybe you would have been shipwrecked earlier,” Hawke pointed out. “I’m a terrible sailor.”

“Are you?” Isabela leaned back in her seat. “I suppose I’ll have to keelhaul you until you shape up.”

“Maybe another time,” Hawke said, glancing at the door. “Aveline.”

“I think I’ve spotted our man,” Varric said at the same time. “At the bar, he’s drinking like he’s on someone else’s tab.”

“He’s one of my guards,” Aveline breathed. “Damn. I had hoped…”

“A lot of coin for this place,” Hawke said behind the man.

“That’s right, pal,” the man replied. “Tonight I’m paid and blessed. And all I had to do was turn my head.” He raised the bottle he was drinking from, looking to his companions. “To all my friends!” Hawke stepped closer, and the man turned. “Hey, step back. I know important people. We’re going to sow this city what to do with heathen oxmen.”

“Guard-Captain, would you like to have a word with your man?” Hawke said lightly.

“Guard-Captain?” The man echoed, color draining from his face.

“Who?” Aveline demanded.

“What?”

Aveline grabbed him by the front of his jerkin. “_Who?_”

“Who what?” The man bleated. “I don’t…”

“Who bought you? Who bought the honor of a proud guard of Kirkwall and made him a drunken mabari bitch?”

“I don’t…I don’t know,” the man swore. “He was a Templar. I swear! He had the seal of the grand cleric and everything!”

“The penalty for abandoning your post is ten days on the wall. I expect you to report in the morning,” Aveline said. The man whimpered, fleeing the tavern. “There’s your answer. A Templar.”

“With the Grand Cleric’s seal, no less. Well done.” Hawke paused. “Didn’t you let him off easy?”

“What do you mean?”

“Abandoning a post is dozing off, or getting bored and leaving early. Abandoning a post is not accepting payment to ignore the kidnapping of Qunari delegates. When you found out Jeven was in with the Coterie, you had him removed from the guard.”

“And you expect me to throw him out as well?”

Hawke gave her an irritated look. “Considering he’s done much the same thing? Yes!”

“I’ll be watching him,” Aveline promised. “If he puts another toe out of line, he’ll be out of the guard.”

“I suppose that’s all I can expect,” Hawke said darkly, her eyes focusing over Aveline’s shoulder. “Oh, Donnic just showed up.”

Aveline started. “I…you talk to him. I’ll be over there for a minute.”

“Donnic! Good you could come!” Hawke and Donnic found seats, got a round of drinks, and fell into an uncomfortable silence as Hawke waited for Aveline to make an appearance.

The two stared at each other for several minutes. “There were supposed to be others coming, right?” Donnic asked.

“Plans change, apparently,” Hawke forced out.

“Right,” Donnic said slowly. “Look, I should really…”

“Just…give it a moment,” Hawke urged. Donnic sat back down, looking as uncomfortable as Hawke felt. A few more minutes passed, and the two nursed their drinks. “Another round?” She asked.

Donnic looked relieved. “Maker, yes!” As their next round of drinks hit the table, Hawke looked over Donnic’s shoulder, seeing Aveline shaking her head and trying to be unobtrusive in the corner.

Donnic leaned over into Hawke’s line of sight, looking confused. “So, Aveline is great!” Hawke blurted out.

“Look, if this was all an attempt to get closer to me through the captain, you’re just not my type. All this playing sly business? I like a little backbone.” He stood. “I have to go. Thanks for the drinks.”

Hawke grabbed her drink, stomping over to Aveline. “You better have a bloody good reason for chickening out.”

“I…I couldn’t do it,” Aveline said. “What did he say?”

“He thinks _I’m _interested in him,” Hawke replied. “I don’t even _like _men that way most of the time.”

“I’m an idiot,” Aveline sighed.

“Admitting it is a good first step,” Hawke snarked. “Where are you heading next?”

“The barracks. Ferelden? The deepest hole I can find?”

“Look at it this way,” Hawke offered. “Nothing you’ve done so far could be construed by any reasonable person as a sign of interest. So you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“The only place I’m not a mess is on patrol,” Aveline said. “And killing highwaymen doesn’t afford much opportunity for banter.”

“Here come the excuses,” Isabela said from nearby at the bar.

“I will not risk…”

“That’s the problem,” Isabela interrupted. “You are forcing me to be the voice of reason, and it is _not _a good look for me! Risk, or so help me I will bed the man myself!”

Hawke smirked. “I think that pretty much forces the issue.”

“But I can’t fight _and _talk,” Aveline protested.

“I’ll clear the way and you can see if he’s the one,” Hawke offered. “Just…get this done, woman.”

“You clear the route up the Wounded Coast, and I…will think of something to say,” Aveline agreed.

—ROTC—

“So, you’re taking the captain of the guard to accuse the grand cleric of funding zealots?” Aveline asked incredulously.

“It’s a careful chat about missing Qunari,” Hawke said.

"Maybe... maybe a little more tact would work on that plan."

"Tact?" Hawke managed to look and sound offended. "I'll have you know, Aveline, I'm full of tact and diplomacy."

"Only 'cause you never use it."

Hawke caught a Chantry sister’s attention. “The Grand Cleric, please. Tell her…tell her it concerns the Qunari.”

“Serah Hawke,” a voice called.

Hawke recognized her. “Sister Petrice.”

“Mother Petrice,” she corrected. “Time has changed us both.”

“I doubt that,” Hawke muttered.

“Grand Cleric Elthina cannot grant an audience to just anyone. What do you want?”

“Funny how you and issues with the Qunari seem to go together.”

“And you always assume their side,” Petrice accused.

“I’m on the side of _peace_,” Hawke shot back. “I’m not the one trying to start a war.”

“I was naïve when we last met. I did not want you dead, but I felt a death was necessary. That may be too fine a point for you to understand, but you must admit, you came out the better for it.”

“Oh sure, nearly dying twice because you felt you could play with people’s lives definitely benefitted me. A Templar may have misjudged an order and abused the grand cleric’s authority.”

“I assure you, the Templars would never embarrass the Chantry, at risk of the knight-commander’s wrath.”

“Men were hired for the righteous task of kidnapping a Qunari delegation,” Hawke said. Petrice’s face darkened. “A pause that says you knew. But does Her Grace?”

“The Grand Cleric trusts her stewards to enact the wishes of the Maker,” Petrice said loftily.

“I’ll speak to Her Grace another time, then,” Hawke replied. “You will not always be here.”

“Stubborn,” Petrice hissed. “All right, Serah Hawke, if you won’t abandon this. Let me offer you something. The Templar you seek is a radical who has grown…unreliable. Confronting him may do us all a favor.”

“And he is what, to you? Besides a loose end?”

“He is my former bodyguard, Ser Varnell. Assume what you wish, but I offer him to you as…reconciliation. Meet me at this location tonight.” She handed over a slip of paper with directions. “I invite you, Serah Hawke. Come see the unrest these Qunari have inspired.” She stalked off, and Hawke heard voices from deeper in the Chantry.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Sebastian was saying.

“It is not enough to ask forgiveness for a sin you committed in full knowledge. The Maker blessed us with minds and conscience. He does not approve when we fail to use them.”

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian said.

“I’m not the one you wronged,” Grand Cleric Elthina replied.

“I thought it would end here,” Sebastian said. “That young lady, Hawke, she decimated Flint Company. No survivors. Yet, now that I know who sent them, it’s harder to see their deaths as justice.”

“Death is never justice,” Elthina lectured.

“I…” He trailed off as he saw Hawke approaching. “Hawke! We were just talking about you.”

“Saying good things, I hope?”

“Many people in Kirkwall have good things to say about you,” Elthina said.

“I’ve learned who hired Flint Company,” Sebastian broke in. “The Harimanns, a noble family of Kirkwall. They were my parents’ allies. It’s hard to believe they betrayed us like this.”

“Any idea why they turned on you?” Hawke asked, feigning interest.

“Money? Power? It’s hard to say. Lady Harimann was always jealous of my family for being royalty when hers were mere nobility. But I can’t imagine that pushing her into outright murder.”

“I suspect you’re going to ask for my help again,” Hawke said. Sebastian nodded. “Is there any peaceful way to resolve this?”

“If you treat the Harimanns like those mercenaries, you could start a war,” Elthina warned. “Go carefully, Sebastian.”

“I must speak with Lady Harimann and find out what drove her to this madness,” Sebastian declared. “But I am the last of my line. As you guessed, I am asking for your help. I should not go alone and make myself a target.”

“If this allows Sebastian to make peace, it is worth doing,” Elthina said. “You’ve taken on lesser causes.”

Hawke ignored her, focusing on Sebastian. “Please, I have no one else to turn to.”

“You can count on me, Sebastian,” Hawke said.

“I cannot fault Sebastian for wanting to know why an old ally would turn against his parents,” Elthina said. “But I fear he’s too impetuous. He may do something he regrets.”

“It’s his decision,” Hawke replied.

“Please, go with him, try to restrain him. If the Harimanns are guilty, they will receive justice from the viscount. Sebastian need not take their punishment into his own hands.”

“What is the Chantry’s stance on the Qunari’s presence here?”

“Would it help anything for us to get involved? Or is it more likely to light the kindling? If the Qunari act against us, the Templars will defend Kirkwall. Otherwise, we guard ourselves best by waiting.”

Privately, Hawke deeply doubted the Templars would defend anything but the Templars, but she thought better of voicing that thought. “I see. And did you know that someone used the authority of your name to instigate a crime against the Qunari?”

“The path to righteousness is never as straight and narrow as we wish. I truly hoped this would not go so far, but do not trouble yourself. I will step in when it’s time.”

“It’s time,” Hawke replied bluntly. “The Arishok is growing increasingly agitated and provoking him further seems less than wise. Your authority was used in said provocation. Are you intending to stay neutral about the Qunari and mages forever?”

“The Maker’s time is not men’s time. We do not need to rush,” Elthina said sagely.

Isabela snorted. “I’ll have to remember that line the next time I’m late.”

“The Chantry is not a domineering father with the whip always in hand, she is a gentle mother who knows her children learn best when allowed to learn themselves.”

“Yes, but a gentle mother also needs to know when to rein in her wayward children,” Hawke countered. “Forget it. Just keep an eye on Mother Petrice. She’s trouble.” Without waiting for an answer, she stalked off. “What’s been going on, Varric?”

“There’s another notice on the Chanter’s Board,” Varric said. “Foreign assassins are after a local apostate, and the local mercenary groups want them eliminated.”

—ROTC—

“I have something for you,” Hawke said, handing over a tiny ship in a bottle.

“Oh, isn’t that just the cutest thing!”

“You can’t see it, but below deck there’s a perfect replica of you with a dozen sailors in attendance.”

“You tease,” Isabela said. “I’m sure there isn’t. It is a worthy goal to work towards, however.” She set the bottle down on the bar, smiling sincerely. “Thank you, Hawke. This was a thoughtful gesture.”

The dance had gone on for too long, Hawke thought. “Isabela, you should come by the estate sometime,” she said before she could stop herself.

She considered that for a long moment, nodding slowly. “Doing away with subtlety, I take it?” she murmured.

“I think so,” Hawke admitted.

Isabela knocked back her drink. “How about now?”

Hawke’s palms were sweating as they crossed Hightown, and she shook herself, trying to ignore her jangling nerves.

“So this is where you live,” Isabela said lightly as they entered the main hall of the estate. “Not bad. I preferred the old place. It had…more charm.”

“Also more rats and fleas,” Hawke pointed out. “You don’t like my new house?”

“The house is fine, I suppose,” Isabela allowed, “but Lowtown…the smell of tar and the sea, and the sound of some whore plying her trade in a back alley – don’t you miss that?”

“Why do you think I spend so much time at the Hanged Man?” Hawke asked. Isabela giggled. “And you can get your thrills in Hightown, if you know where to look.”

“Oh?” Isabela raised an eyebrow. “And where would that be?”

Hawke swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. “I can show you what I have in mind.”

Ten seconds later, the two were in Hawke’s bedchamber, Hawke staggering backwards as the pirate wrapped her legs around Hawke’s waist, their lips meeting in a fierce kiss as Hawke groped at Isabela’s sheathes. She managed to relieve Isabela of one dagger, then the other, before falling back on the bed and managing to not injure herself in the process. She was tugging at the scarf Isabela wore around her waist when the rogue sat up, tugging another dagger from a concealed sheath with a smirk and tossing it over her shoulder, where it stuck blade-first in some delicate-looking woodwork on Hawke’s desk.

“Easy, _easy_, _watch it_!” The two rolled off the bed, landing hard on the floor.

Downstairs, Bodahn looked up from the list he was making, looking at the ceiling over his head. “I do hope Serah Hawke is all right. What in the world could be going on up there?”

“Enchantment!” Sandal cheered.

Bodahn listened closely and could barely make out a giggle he recognized as Isabela's, followed by a deep moan. The dwarf flushed. “Oh. Oh my. Erm…Sandal. Let's go shopping, shall we?”

—ROTC—

“Varric, I will admit, there are things I do not need to know.”

“You sure? There could be some vital details.”

“Varric.”

—ROTC—

Isabela lifted her face from between Hawke's legs, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. Resting her cheek on Hawke's hip, she grinned up at the trembling mage. “Should I send for Anders? You don't look at all well, sweet thing.”

Hawke lifted her head, her bangs plastered to her forehead with sweat. “I can't feel my toes.”

The duelist dressed easily, pulling her boots on slowly. “That was…” she laughed. “Thank you. I should go. I wouldn’t want to take advantage of your…hospitality.”

“I don’t want you wandering the streets alone at this hour,” Hawke said.

Isabela giggled. “You’re sweet, but I can watch out for myself.”

“I know you can,” Hawke said. “I’m worried about what mischief you’ll get up to. Besides, who said we were done?”

“We were using each other, sweet thing. I was curious about you, and now my curiosity is...sated.”

“I don't know if mine is,” Hawke mumbled. “My curiosity may be hungry again later.”

“Wait,” Isabela said, turning around. “You're not thinking of bringing _feelings_ into this, are you?”

“Right now I'd like to bring some feeling back to my lower extremities,” Hawke said, rubbing her thighs together. “You brought plenty of feelings into it just a little while ago.”

“Cute,” Isabela replied dryly. “Answer the question.”

Hawke pushed herself up on her elbows, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. “What about love?”

“Love’s not for everyone,” Isabela said. “It’s not for me. It’s just…messy.”

“It's not always up to you,” Hawke replied. “Love can be pretty persistent.”

“I don't care,” Isabela said firmly. “It can go pester someone else. Did you know I was once married? When I was freed, I swore I would never marry again.”

“How were you ‘freed’ from the marriage?” Hawke asked, suspecting the answer.

“My husband took an assassin’s blade to the back of the skull,” Isabela said bluntly. “And before you start jumping to conclusions, no, I didn’t hire the assassin. I did thank him profusely, however.” She shook her head. “Ah, Zevran. He was an artist.”

“I can’t imagine you married,” Hawke admitted.

“I was his plaything,” Isabela said. “A prized possession. He saw me with my mother at the market in Llomerryn and decided he had to have me. My mother gave me away for a goat and a handful of gold coins. She didn’t even haggle over the price!”

“Your marriage was loveless, and you’ve never experienced true love?”

Isabela chuckled mirthlessly. “Oh, I’ve been in love. I fell in love with a man not long after my husband died. He foolishly asked for my hand. I refused to be tied down again, and I fled. It broke his heart. Destroyed him.”

“I’m sorry it ended that way.”

“He was better off. I saved him a lot of trouble in the long run.”

“You're not afraid of being hurt, you're just afraid of hurting someone else,” Hawke said quietly.

“No, I...look, it isn't like that. It's just easier this way. Now, if you're done trying to confuse the issue, I'm going to go.”

Hawke staggered off the bed, catching Isabela by the belt. “Not a chance. Come back here.” Isabela spun, and Hawke moved with her, managing to avoid the shove and caught the rogue in her arms. “Look. I'm not proposing marriage, and I know you don't like being tied down. Well, not in public at least. But...if you're open to the idea, I'd like to see where this goes.”

Isabela stared at her for a few moments, before turning on her heel and leaving. Hawke fell onto the edge of the bed, still fuzzy. “Damn.” She glanced down as she felt a rough edge on the red sheet below her and found a strip torn out. “Hey!”

—ROTC—

The door to Varric’s suite flew open, and Hawke charged in. “_Varric, I had sex!_”

Varric had the drinks already poured, his quill above the parchment, and his shirt unreasonably open. “_Tell me everything_.”

—ROTC—

“_Varric_.”

“All right, all right.”

—ROTC—

Aveline tilted her head. “Are those fingernail marks on the back of your neck?”

Hawke rubbed the area in question. “I, uh...was attacked. I don't want to talk about it.”

“You were _attacked_?” Aveline asked.

“_Yeah_ she was,” Isabela said with a grin.

“Merrill,” Hawke said, a touch desperately. “I understand Arianni is in need of help again?”

“Is she?” Merrill frowned. “I wasn’t sure what was in that letter she gave me for you, but she did seem upset.”

Hawke downed the rest of her drink. “Come on. Let’s go see what mischief Feynriel’s gotten into now.”

Merrill tilted her head, watching Isabela walk. “How do you do that?”

Isabela looked over. “Do what, Kitten?”

“You sort of... swagger when you walk. I've been trying, but I trip over my own feet when I do it.”

Isabela shrugged. “You just strut. It's not something you practice.”

Merrill pouted. “How do I learn it, then?”

“It comes to you. Usually at night. It's like a lover... or maybe a burglar. Either it ravishes you or runs off with all your jewelry. And you have to run it down and stab it in the heart. And... that metaphor got a bit away from me, didn't it?”

“I think it did, but it was certainly exciting!”

Arianni was waiting in the Alienage. “I was hoping you would come. You did so much for my Feynriel already, but…I visited him among the people, but he turned me away. I know the demons still plague him. And now they’ve taken him! Two days ago, Feynriel went into a nightmare and hasn’t returned.”

“He can’t be woken up?” Hawke asked.

“The Keeper says he is near death. His lips still fog a mirror, but that is all.”

Hawke blanched. “Surely there are mages who can pursue him in the Fade.”

“I have contacted Keeper Marethari. The Dalish have an ancient ritual that might help. But it requires someone Feynriel trusts to enter the Fade to free him.”

“And that someone would be me?” Hawke asked. Arianni nodded. “Well, I have braved the Fade before. Perhaps I can aid him.”

“You have been so kind to us. Feynriel thinks of you as a true friend. Marethari is coming to perform the ritual that will bring Feynriel back. His childhood things here will help anchor him. We need to begin the ritual as quickly as possible.”

“Is Keeper Marethari here?” Hawke asked.

“She should be here soon,” Arianni replied.

As if on cue, Marethari descended the steps to the alienage square. As she entered the alienage, many of the city elves bowed to her reverentially. She paused at the vhenadhal before coming to where Hawke and the others waited.

Once inside the woman's small apartment, the keeper spoke up. “I came quickly, Arianni. I did not wish to tell you by letter how grave your son's situation is. His abilities make him what the Tevinters used to call _somniari_ – a dreamer. Dreamers have the power to control the Beyond – what humans call the Fade. Feynriel is the first in two ages to survive.”

“Why are they so rare?” Hawke asked.

“Dreamers have great power in the Fade. They attract demons. Luckily, most prove too fragile of mind to survive a demon's possession. A dreamer abomination would be near unstoppable,” the keeper responded solemnly.

“Why? What makes a dreamer so dangerous?”

“Dreamers are unique for their ability to enter the Fade at will, without the aid of lyrium. In the Fade, they can shape dreams and even affect the world beyond the Veil. Tevinter _somniari_ used to enter the minds of sleepers and slay them in their dreams.”

Hawke’s jaw dropped. “Maker’s breath…and what exactly are we going to do here?”

“The elves of the Dales were experts at the _somniari_ arts. They could even help those with no power enter the Fade,” she explained. “I have done my best to recreate the ritual. We will use Feynriel's childhood home as a focus to draw him back through the Veil.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Hawke asked. “Send me into the Fade.”

“I told you her courage was legendary!” Arianni declared.

The keeper nodded in assent. “Now, Arianni,” she said gently, “please excuse us. We must prepare.” The keeper took Hawke's arm and gently led her to one side as Arianni stepped outside. “There is more I must tell you that is not for her ears.”

Hawke tried to ignore the feeling of impending doom in the pit of her stomach. “You’re really not my type.”

Marethari gave her a disappointed frown, and Hawke understood why Merrill was hesitant to face her alone. “This is a serious matter,” she chided. “Feynriel _cannot_ become an abomination. The destruction he would cause is unimaginable. If you cannot save him from the demons, you must kill him yourself. His death in the Fade, during this ritual, will make him what your Circle calls Tranquil. He will be no threat after.”

Hawke looked shocked. “That's Feynriel's greatest fear,” she said. “I won't be the one to make it come true.”

The Keeper gave her a long, searching look, before sighing. “I have no choice but to leave it in your hands,” she said. “Now, gather a team, and we will begin. Choose carefully, for all will face temptation.”

“I’ve been in the Fade before,” Anders said. “It wasn’t a fun time, but I’m willing to go again.”

“Can I come?” Merrill asked. “I’d love to see the ritual! And I promise I won’t be a bother!”

“Frolic through dreams?” Isabela said. “Sounds like an experience. I’m game.”

Fenris scowled. “I have no desire to explore the Fade, but if you need me, I will go.”

“How many of us can you send?” Hawke asked.

“Five, no more,” Marethari replied. “The ritual was not designed for large groups.”

“All right,” Hawke sighed. “Merrill, Anders, Fenris, and Isabela. We’re going to need all the strength we can get in there.”

“Leaving me behind, Hawke?” Varric asked.

“Do you really want to go dance with demons?” Hawke countered.

“No, but this would be a great story,” the dwarf said.

“We’ll tell you what happened,” Hawke replied. “Anders, remember what everybody wore, yeah?”

Marethari was waiting by several cots. “Are you ready to begin?”

Hawke nodded. “Keeper, I understand Merrill has something to ask of you.”

“This is neither the time or the place,” Marethari said stiffly.

“Agreed,” Merrill said. “We have more pressing concerns.”

“What you’re doing takes a lot of guts,” Varric said.

“And no brains,” Hawke replied, laying down on one of the cots. “Time’s wasting, Keeper. Let’s do this.”

—ROTC—

Hawke had expected a number of things upon entering the Fade, but Anders’ sudden personality change was not one of them. “I had not thought to return in such a way,” the mage boomed, blue light erupting from his eyes and through his skin. “It is good to feel the breath of the Fade again, not the empty air of your world.”

“Uh…Anders?” The mage looked at him blankly, and Hawke tilted her head. “Justice, then?”

“Yes. Anders has told you of me.”

“Well, we’re just here for a visit, so enjoy it while it lasts,” Hawke said uneasily.

"We should not linger," Fenris warned. "Nothing here is real."

“He speaks truly,” Justice agreed. “The Fade is mutable, ever-changing. Come, I sense Feynriel’s mind straining. We will not have much time.”

"Feynriel must be further in," Hawke frowned. "I wonder why he's dreaming of the Gallows?"

The hallway had doors along it, but only one opened, leading to a stairway down to a courtyard. A single shade glided across the courtyard towards them. "Well," said the thing in lazy, velvet tones. "It's rare to see two forgotten magics in one day. It's usually a slow place, the Fade. Not many surprises. I wasn't sure I'd like this one, but it has potential."

"Do not trust it," snapped Fenris. "It is a thing that will lure you in if it can."

The thing turned a single, glowing violet eye upon her. "Call me… Torpor," it said. "I have a proposition that might interest you."

“And here’s my counter,” Hawke said brightly, smashing the demon across what passed for its face with her staff and crushing it with a blast of force. It dissipated back into the world of the Fade.

The gate was impassible, but world seemed to stutter as Hawke tried a door, and her companions vanished in a flash of light. Vincento was ahead, speaking to a younger Feynriel. “I’ll have you scribing all my letters soon. If I’d known you were such a bright lad, I’d have brought you into the business years ago.”

“Does that mean I can come with you to Antiva, Father?” Feynriel asked. “Mother said maybe this summer…” He looked at Hawke. “Right, Mother?”

Hawke caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror and was shocked to see Arianni’s face. “Your father never wanted anything to do with you,” Hawke said bluntly. “Don’t trust him.”

“Why are you lying to me?” Feynriel asked ‘Vincento’.

“Don’t listen, son,” the demon masquerading as Vincento said. “She’s always been ashamed of you. She wanted you gone so she could go back to the Dalish. I’m the one who loves you.”

Feynriel’s face clouded. “But…why can’t I remember you?”

“This is a trick, Feynriel,” Hawke urged. “He wants something from you.”

“Why?” Feynriel scowled. “That’s right! I spent my whole childhood waiting for you.”

“Your mother never allowed-”

“My mother loves me! She showed me the letters she wrote you. You never wrote back.” Feynriel vanished in a burst of light, and the illusion broke down, a Desire demon revealing itself.

“You!” The demon hissed. “You turned him against me!”

“Complete accident,” Hawke said lightly. “I was trying to help. Honest.”

The demon suddenly calmed. “Take away my pets, and I’ll take away yours,” it purred. “How loyal are these friends you drag into the Fade?” It looked to Isabela. “Would your pirate queen stay if the open water beckoned?” It strode forward, and Isabela’s eyes glazed over. Whether it was because of the demon’s impressive attributes about the chest or some literal magic it held, Hawke wasn’t sure. “What do you say, sweetheart? A two-mast brigantine, square-main topsail…a hundred well-built lads to answer your every whim. I know you’ve been looking for a stiff masthead.”

“This is a demon, Isabela,” Hawke warned. “Don’t let it tempt you.”

“Well, if it wasn’t a demon, I wouldn’t think it could grant wishes!” Isabela said.

“The Siren’s Call Two awaits in Kirkwall harbor,” The demon continued. “I’ll be under the furs in the captain’s quarters.”

“I like big boats, I cannot lie,” Isabela said simply, reaching for her daggers.

“Oh, _come on_,” Hawke groaned, sweeping the rogue’s legs out from under her with a pulse of force magic. Merrill and Justice destroyed the demon with torrents of lightning as Fenris dueled with Isabela, the two fighters trading blows until Hawke grimaced and set the rogue on fire. “I’m sorry!” She shouted as Isabela vanished. “Oh, I hope she’s all right…”

“She just turned on us,” Fenris said. “I do not share your concern.”

More denizens of the Fade awaited them in the courtyard. “More demons,” Merrill said. “Feynriel’s suffering draws them the way pastries draw Varric.” With three mages and a greatsword on their side, a handful of demons only put up a brief fight, and Hawke crossed the courtyard to the only other door.

Another flash of light, and Hawke found herself in unfamiliar robes, in front of Keeper Marethari. “My people, I present to you…our hope,” Marethari was saying. “His features may mark him as human, but in his heart beats the blood of the Dales! He came to us to learn his heritage, to release the power from a lineage as ancient as our race.”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Feynriel stammered.

“This is a trick,” Hawke said, frowning as her voice came out distinctly male.

Feynriel’s brow furrowed. “First Enchanter? What are you doing here? Mother told me the Dalish are honorable! Why would the Keeper lie?”

“Why would she entrust her people to a human?” Hawke asked.

“You are one of us, Feynriel,” ‘Marethari’ said soothingly. “Your magic will restore our greatness.”

“But…you told me this magic was outlawed for a reason. Even the Dalish don’t practice it anymore.”

“Could the elves trust you with the power to shape reality?” Hawke pressed. “Could you trust yourself?”

“Don’t listen to him,” the demon urged. “The First Enchanter is trying to keep you from realizing your greatness.”

“Trying to keep me from temptation, just like you were,” Feynriel realized. “You’re not the Keeper!” His hands glowed, and a burst of magic threw the demon back, stumbling Hawke. “Begone, fiend!”

The demon rounded on Hawke. “You! Why did you interfere?” Its shape blurred and glowed, and a Pride demon revealed itself. “With my power joined to his, Feynriel would have changed the world!”

“He’ll change the world all right, but he doesn’t need you to do it,” Hawke said. “Besides, have you ever seen an abomination? They are ug-ly.”

“You put such stock in appearances? Perhaps that is why your friends’ loyalty only goes skin-deep.” It pointed a giant hand at Merrill. “You think this elf, with her innocent face, would turn down a demon’s offer? She didn’t before.” Its many eyes narrowed at the elf. “How about it? Would you take what I offered the boy? Scion of the Dalish, savior of elvenkind?”

“Can you…do that?” Merrill asked softly.

Hawke’s jaw dropped. “Not you too!”

“I am the greatest of my kind!” The demon boasted. “Whatever tricks your little pet has taught you will pale in comparison.”

“Merrill, you know demons always turn on you in the end,” Hawke said. “Merrill, _please_.”

“I…cannot put you ahead of the fate of my people,” Merrill whispered. She gasped as Fenris’s fist erupted from her chest, and vanished.

“Once was enough,” the elf rasped, drawing his greatsword and lunging at the Pride demon. Hawke and Justice froze it in place as Fenris hacked it apart, and as it vanished, he turned to Hawke. “I warned you she would fall to a demon.”

“Not now, Fenris,” Hawke said, looking at the spot where Merrill had been. “Just…not right now, all right?”

Feynriel was waiting in the courtyard, looking out at the gate. “I’m not sure if this is real,” He said as they approached. “If so, it is the second time I owe you my life. The Fade feels different now. I see the stitches, the seams holding it together. I feel I could wake at any moment.”

“You’re a somniari, a dreamer,” Hawke explained. “They control the Fade and the dreams of people in it. It’s a rare ability, Feynriel.”

“I see why the Chantry fears us,” Feynriel said. “I’ve heard tales of magisters who stalked their enemies and used their own dreams to destroy them.”

“There’s nothing you have to fear that shouldn’t fear you a thousand times more,” Hawke said. “These skills will serve you, but you have to learn to control it.”

“You’re right. I must master it, find someone to study under.” He paused. “And the Dalish do not have what I need. Perhaps Tevinter. If these powers can be trained, it would be there. My mother would not look kindly on such a journey. Would you give her my farewell?”

Hawke tilted her head. “You are set on this path, then?”

Feynriel nodded. “Yes. I…feel resolved, in a way I never have before.”

“Then may the Maker guide your path, Feynriel. Best of luck.” Feynriel raised his hands, there was a flash of light, and Hawke’s eyes opened.

“Is it done?” Marethari asked.

“Feynriel has mastered his powers,” Hawke reported, sitting up.

Arianni was sitting nearby, her face pale beneath her tattoos. “Then he lives? You saved him? I cannot thank you enough!” She turned to Marethari. “Keeper, may I return with you to the Sunderlands? I would like to ask my son’s forgiveness.”

“Of course,” Marethari said. “It was you who chose to stay away.”

“Feynriel has decided to go elsewhere to train,” Hawke explained. “There is no one in Kirkwall to help him. He asked me to say goodbye.”

Arianni’s eyes widened. “My son? No! I must find him before he goes.”

“It is wise for him to seek guidance,” Marethari said. “Kirkwall cannot provide what he needs.” She turned to Hawke as Arianni left, presumably headed for the Dalish encampment. “I truly did not think what you did was possible. You are a rare human, indeed.”

“Where are Merrill and Isabela?” Hawke asked.

“They awoke some time ago, and left without a word,” Marethari said. “Did…something happen in the Fade?”

“They succumbed to temptation,” Hawke replied as Anders and Fenris stepped outside. “I…thought better of them than that.”

“No one is immune to a demon’s offer,” Marethari said. “But you accomplished a miracle with Feynriel. I thank you.”

“That’s not necessary,” Hawke replied absently, her eyes on the door. “Just remember that some of us are all right. Come by the estate sometime, we’ll have dinner.”

—ROTC—

The door to Merrill’s apartment was open, and Hawke knocked but got no response. Merrill was inside, sitting on her bed with her arms around her knees, her eyes red from crying. “I…I can’t believe I turned on you. With the demon. In the Fade. I’m so sorry. _Ma serannas_.” She looked down. “I’ll understand if you can’t forgive me.”

Hawke stared at her for a moment in stony silence. “Stand up.” Merrill obeyed wordlessly, and squeaked as Hawke pulled her into a tight hug. “I’m just glad you’re all right,” Hawke said thickly, not letting go. “The demon made you do it.”

“I should have recognized I was being manipulated,” Merrill said bitterly, hugging Hawke back. “I’ve been so careful in all my dealings with spirits until now. To make such an obvious mistake…it frightens me. It takes so little for a mage to fall.”

“What do you do to protect yourself from demons?” Hawke asked, finally letting her go.

“The Keeper taught me…in the Fade, you must believe nothing but yourself,” Merrill explained, sitting down. “Everything there is a lie, or a trick, or a trap. I knew not to trust…I don’t know why I did.”

“That was my next question,” Hawke said, sitting down on the bed next to Merrill. “What made you give in?”

“It felt like every word the demon spoke reached out and pulled at my heart,” Merrill said, staring at the wall. “I didn’t want to believe it. But I just…had to.”

“You’re already in a lot more danger than most mages,” Hawke said.

“Because of…the blood magic. I know. I’ll be more guarded from now on. Thank the Creators you were there, but it won’t happen again. I’ll make sure of that.”

“It’s not the blood magic,” Hawke said. “You’re dealing with demons, Merrill. Their only goal is to get to our world. By dealing with them, you’re putting yourself at risk. I don’t want you to get hurt, Merrill. That’s all I care about.”

“So, you’re just…letting this go?” Merrill asked. “Just like that?”

“Just like that. If I held a grudge against everyone who attacked me in a dream, I’d have no friends,” Hawke said.

“How do you do that?” Merrill asked. “Make everything better with a smile? It’s like magic that doesn’t get you in trouble.”

“It’s a gift,” Hawke said. “Take care of yourself, will you?” Merrill nodded, wiping her eyes.

—ROTC—

It was hours later that Hawke found Isabela in the Hanged Man, talking with Merrill. “I never have affairs with my crew,” Isabela said. “Once they see you naked with your ass in the air, they think they don’t have to take orders.” Merrill giggled as Isabela took a pull on the bottle she was working on. “Men. You have to be twice as tough to earn half as much respect.”

“So did the crew member mutiny? I mean after…” Merrill blushed. “You know.”

Isabela chuckled. “Oh, no, I had the offending member removed. That got rid of the attitude. I…” She spotted Hawke, and her smile grew brittle. “Oh, look, it’s Hawke!” Merrill stood and gave Hawke a shy smile, heading for Varric’s suite as Isabela took another drink.

Hawke gave Isabela a look. “We need to talk.”

Isabela groaned. “Bugger. I knew this was coming.”

“So, that was…something,” Hawke said.

Isabela took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I’m sorry I abandoned you in the Fade. That was foolish of me. I mean, I didn’t even get the ship in the end.”

“What made you give in like that?” Hawke asked. “You know deals like that don’t play out well.”

“I don’t know,” Isabela admitted. “I could see the hard line of the hull, run my hands along the elegant curve of her prow…the demon was in my head. Nothing but the ship made sense.”

“I don’t blame you,” Hawke said. “I understand what it’s like to be under the influence of a demon.”

“You…what?” Isabela shook her head. “That’s it? No angry rant? You’re not going soft on me, are you?”

Hawke prodded at her own belly. “I’ve always been a little soft. But if you’d like, we could arrange a spanking instead.”

Isabela laughed. “Oh, stop. You’re going to make me want to betray you more often.”

“Don’t make a habit of it,” Hawke warned. “We’ve got a meeting to crash tonight. You coming along?”

“You know it.”

—ROTC—

“We’re getting close,” Varric warned. They were deep in the tunnels in Darktown, following Petrice’s crude map.

“I can smell the zealotry,” Anders said. “You hear somebody talking?”

“Qunari hold no real power,” the voice was saying. “The are absent from the eyes of the Maker! Like any beast, remove the fangs and it is lost. They are weak before the faithful of the Maker. The only certainty in their precious Qun is death before the righteous!” There was the dull thump of flesh hitting flesh, and Hawke rounded the corner and spotted the ‘rogue’ Templar Varnell talking.

Four Qunari were bound to posts against the wall, and by the look on the nearest one Varnell was engaging in a Templar’s favorite pastime – beating someone who couldn’t fight back. One was already dead, hanging limply from his bonds.

“Ser Varnell!” Mother Petrice's voice rang out from behind them.

The Templar turned and saw Petrice, holding his arms out in welcome. “Take a knee, faithful. The Chantry blesses us,” he called.

“You claim a blessing when you have used the authority of the Grand Cleric so openly?” Petrice demanded. “You have brought wrath down upon you.” Petrice gave a sickly-sweet smile as she turned toward Hawke and her companions. “You remember Serah Hawke? The Qunari have friends, Templar. How will you answer their allegations?”

“You want a fight?” Hawke demanded. “Face someone whose weapons are not bound.”

“Templars are cowards,” Anders spat. “They only pick on those whose lives they already hold in their hands.”

Varnell drew a dagger, only to sprout a crossbow bolt through the eye. “You talk too much, and that’s coming from _me_,” Varric said dryly as Varnell’s corpse dropped.

Petrice bolted, but the mob drew weapons. Hawke waited until she was out of sight, before dropping a fireball in front of the charging zealots. “She’s a mage!” One cried, flames licking at his clothes.

“The Maker will protect us!” another shouted, moments before Isabela’s knives dropped him. The rogue slid around another zealot’s hammer strike, her blades flashing. The man’s arms hung uselessly as she slashed both his biceps open, before kicking him into one of his compatriots.

“Hawke, behind us!” Anders shouted, unleashing a storm of lightning. Hawke backed up as a zealot with a knife slashed at her, her back bumping into Anders’ as Fenris cut the fanatic down from behind. The two mages chained their spells, flinging fireballs and lightning bolts in equal measure as more fanatics charged. Hawke knocked several off their feet with a blast of force magic, bones snapping under the impact.

At last, all Varnell's fanatics lay dead. Hawke picked her way through the bodies, checking the Qunari. “They’re dead,” she sighed.

“Fanatics killed them when the fight broke out,” Fenris said, wiping blood from his greatsword. “Cowards.”

“Varric,” Hawke said. “Aveline should have a patrol nearby in Lowtown.”

“I’m on it,” The dwarf replied. By the time he got back with Aveline and the Viscount, Anders had made a discrete exit and the bodies had been looted.

“Madness,” he said in disbelief. “_Madness_.”

“Yes, Excellency,” Hawke said. The Viscount looked down at the body of the late Ser Varnell. “Chantry involvement, even if they _are_ fringe elements…it could not be worse.”

“Sure it could,” Isabela offered, wiping blood from her face. “You could suddenly realize you’re completely naked, or something.”

Dumar’s eyes swept the room again. “You killed them?” he asked. “All of them?”

Hawke's face hardened. “A mother serving the Grand Cleric allowed this to happen. Encouraged it, even.”

Dumar looked surprised. “Are you quite sure? She held a blade with them, told them to fight you?”

“If you’re asking if she created the situation, yes, she did,” Hawke said. “If you’re asking if she fought herself, no, I cannot say that.”

“Of course not.” The Viscount's face grew sour. “A blasted mother! You have no idea the storms these allegations would cause. It would destroy what support I do have.”

Hawke nodded slowly. “I have had trouble with her before. She is…slippery.”

Dumar grunted. “I understand. I will make my inquiries, gently.” His expression grew stern. “And you should be careful in your associations. For now, we have other problems.” His gaze traveled to the qunari corpses. For a time, Dumar remained staring thoughtfully at the bodies. “We have the delegate, but we can't return the bodies to the Qunari in this state.” The Viscount suddenly looked up, and turned to face Hawke. “Serah Hawke,” he said. “You know the Arishok. What should I do?”

“What are you suggesting?” Hawke asked. “Burn the bodies? Hiding this would only make it worse.”

Dumar let out a breath. “It would, wouldn't it.” He rubbed at his forehead wearily. “I'm losing my sense of how to balance this nightmare. I appreciate your help in this matter,” he said sincerely. “As bad as it is, it could have been much worse without you. Kirkwall owes you.” He offered a hand, and Hawke slowly shook it. “_I_ owe you.”

—ROTC—

“Oh, this is so not going to go well,” Hawke sighed as they approached the Qunari compound.

The Qunari parted to let them pass by. Clearly they were expected. The Arishok was waiting in his usual place, his face impassive. He studied them for several long moments.

“So. You could not rescue my delegate, but you killed those responsible,” he said. “How do you explain the condition of their bodies?”

Hawke grimaced. “A fanatic used them to incite others of his kind,” she answered.

“I accept that,” the Arishok said bluntly.

Hawke blinked in surprise, wondering if she’d missed something. “I expected worse.”

“I have seen every vice and weakness of your kind,” he stated. “And how few of you take responsibility. Your Viscount remains a fool.” He straightened on his bench. “But you are not. Panahedan, Hawke. I will keep one good thought about your kind.”

Hawke inclined her head politely. “Thank you, Arishok. I am sorry again for the loss of your men.”

—ROTC—

“Hello, Mother Petrice,” Hawke said without an ounce of sincerity.

“Serah Hawke, it is good to see you,” Petrice replied, equally disingenuously. “The shame that Varnell brought his order is most unfortunate. Praise the Maker that you were His Champion in that dark place.”

“You knew exactly what was going to happen in there,” Hawke spat.

“Hawke, you are standing between the righteous and the heretical. You’re not going to make friends.”

“I’d settle for being able to trust the people I already know,” Hawke said dryly.

“I gave you what you wanted at considerable cost. Varnell is more manageable as a martyr, but his loss will be felt. You have avenged heretical Qunari with human blood. Surely that is good enough for you?”

“You started that fight, not me,” Hawke accused. “And it might be good enough, if you were going to give this up. But you’re not.”

“Varnell was a fool, but the facts remain: an offense to the Maker goes unchallenged.” Petrice began walking away. “I will give you no further cause to shame the Chantry today, but we will have this argument again. The viscount’s incompetence all but guarantees it.”

“I wish I had just let her die in that alley,” Hawke sighed.

—ROTC—

“I’ve got something for you, Varric,” Hawke said. “I recognized this crest in the market, and, well…” She handed over a signet ring, and Varric’s jaw dropped.

“My father’s signet ring? Bartrand pawned it to pay for the expedition! I can’t believe you found it!” He rolled it around in his palm, a lazy smirk making its way across his face. “This sounds exactly like the sort of fake thing I’d make up about you.”

“In that case, when you tell people, mention that I got it from the belly of a dragon.”

“I’ll throw in a couple of werewolves and a griffon for balance.” He slid the ring on. “Well, I guess I better start answering my mail from Orzammar. Bhelen’s court just reminds me too much of family dinners with my cousins.”

“Now, what was it you wanted to talk about?”

Varric grew somber. “Hawke, I’ve got some news. You might not want to be near anything breakable when I tell you, though.”

“Varric, whatever you have to tell me, it’ll be fine.”

“I’ve had an ear out for Bartrand. After the Deep Roads, he ran to Rivain, probably because he knew I couldn’t track him. But I hear he might be back in Kirkwall. He called in loans from a few of his contacts in Hightown.”

“Would Bartrand really risk coming back here?” Hawke asked. “He was greedy and murderous, but he didn’t seem stupid.”

“I think we both know by now that Bartrand would risk anything for money,” Varric said darkly. “There’s a much better market here for that trinket he stole. And all his contacts are in Kirkwall.”

“This couldn’t have been easy to hear,” Hawke said. “How are you holding up?”

“Me? My no-account, backstabbing brother is practically in arm’s reach! I couldn’t be better.”

“We need some answers from Bartrand.”

“I agree,” Varric said. “Bianca’s been missing him something awful. If my information is good – and it’s always good – he has a house in Hightown. Which gives us a good shot at having a word with my dear, sweet brother. Let’s stop by his new house, welcome him to the neighborhood, and all that.”

—ROTC—

_To Knight-Commander Meredith, re. the so-called “Mage Underground”  
Every Circle in Thedas suffers from individual mages who rebel and attempt to flee. These apostates are usually found and returned to the Circle or mercifully killed if they have fallen to demonic temptation. Until now, I have never served anywhere that the populace does not fully cooperate in hunting these rebels._

_Here in Kirkwall, citizens actually help rebel mages escape. Escaped apostates have survived their freedom long enough to form the “the mage underground,” a network that feeds and shelters escapees and even transports apostates into remote areas of the Free Marches and beyond our easy reach._

_As of late, the movement has grown bolder, sending raiding parties into the Gallows in an attempt to break out mages who lack the skills or willpower to escape on their own. This is a grave concern. My recommendation is to fight back, both physically and in turning the minds and hearts of their supporters against them._

_—Knight-Captain Cullen_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.


	15. Fighting for Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A great deal of nonsense and quite a few murders happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Fenris - After the Deep Roads  
Since the adventure into the Deep Roads, Fenris has remained in Kirkwall, maintaining a residence in Danarius's abandoned mansion. That it doesn't truly belong to him has aroused the interest of curious neighbors, and thus, the city guard. Aveline has so far deflected their inquiries on Fenris's behalf; however, she's told him in no uncertain terms that the situation will not remain that way forever._

_Though seemingly unconcerned about the house, Fenris has become increasingly nervous over the last year. He doesn't know if he's actually free from pursuit, or if his former master is planning something even worse. He tries not to think about it, taking pleasure in having a home for the first time in his life, even though his contact with anyone outside of the jobs he takes as a mercenary is very limited._

—ROTC—

The group was walking the path to the Dalish encampment when they rounded a corner and found their path blocked. “Hunters,” Fenris snarled.

“Stop right there,” a voice called. “You are in possession of stolen property. Back away from the slave now and you’ll be spared.”

Hawke looked at Fenris. “Do you want to rip his arms off and beat the stupid out of him with them, or should I?”

“I won’t repeat myself!” The leader shouted. “Back away from the slave now!”

Fenris flared blue. “_I am not your slave!_” A dozen men stormed from concealed positions, directly into Fenris’s greatsword and torrents of magic from Hawke and Merrill. Isabela’s blades flashed in the afternoon sun as they found a mage’s kidneys as Fenris’s sweeping blows cleaved through armor and Hawke incinerated several men with a fireball.

As the last slaver fell, Fenris strode over to the critically injured mage Isabela had left bleeding and grabbed him by the hair. “Where. Is. He?”

“Please don’t kill me,” the mage begged.

Fenris slammed his head into the ground, face-first. “Tell me!”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I swear! Hadriana brought us! She’s at the holding caves north of the city! I can show you the way!”

“No need,” Fenris growled. “I know which ones you speak of.”

“Then let me go, I beg you!” the man pleaded. “I swear I won’t-”

“You chose the wrong master,” Fenris spat. Planting his knee in the man’s back, he twisted the mage’s head until his neck snapped. “Hadriana. I was a fool to think I was free. They’ll never let me be!”

“This Hadriana is someone you know?”

“My old master’s apprentice,” Fenris said, pacing back and forth like an animal in a cage. “I remember her well. A sniveling social climber that would sell her own children if she thought it would please Danarius. If she’s here, it’s at _his _bidding. I knew he wouldn’t let this go!”

“Fenris, this is a good thing,” Hawke said. Fenris stopped short. “If she’s here, that means she’s within reach. Which means soon there’ll be one less person hunting you.”

Fenris smirked through the blood on his face. “Good enough for me. The holding caves held slaves in the old times, but apparently they are no longer abandoned. We must go quickly, before Hadriana has a chance to prepare…or flee.”

“Merrill, I’m sorry, but…”

Merrill waved her off. “This is important. Let’s go.”

The holding pens were hidden in the hills north of the city, but Fenris guided them there easily. A handful of guards put up little fight, and Fenris paused in front of the cave entrance. “They’re still here. Good. There were many such holdings once, especially in the mountains, where individual slavers kept private pens. They were designed to protect against raids by fellow slavers. No doubt it’s why Hadriana chose this place.”

“It won’t matter,” Hawke said. “Hadriana won’t escape us.”

“Let’s hope this isn’t a waste of time.”

Inside the cave, the walls were carefully worked rather than bare stone. And it was all too soon that they began seeing more signs of occupation.

A dead elf was sprawled on a heavy wooden table, his neck and wrists slashed open.

“See for yourself,” Fenris said. “The legacy of the magisters.”

“They sacrifice the unwilling?” Merrill asked.

Fenris turned. “Is that so hard to believe? You are only a step away from it yourself.”

Merrill shook her head fiercely. “That's not true.”

“Believe what you like,” Fenris said. “In my experience, mages always find a way to justify their need for power.”

Hawke gently closed the elf’s eyes. “This needs to stop.”

More slaver guards were ahead, and they fell quickly. Decaying corpses rose from the floor to replace them, however, and Hawke frantically parried with the nearest one’s blows until Isabela blindsided it. There was a brief moment of terror when Merrill trod on a pressure plate that set off a flame trap, singing Varric’s coat, but the elf quickly hopped off the plate and apologized profusely.

More slavers barred their way in the next room, but besides scoring a deep gash across Fenris’s arm that Anders healed a minute later, they fared little better than the last group to face off against Hawke and her companions.

The room after that contained a surprise – a young elven girl, cowering as the handful of slavers in the room were violently ejected from the mortal coil. “Are you hurt?” Fenris asked, his gentle tone somewhat offset by the liberal amounts of blood decorating his armor. “Did they touch you?”

“They've been killing everyone!” she cried. “They cut papa, bled him…”

“Why?” Fenris asked. “Why would they do this?”

“The magister…” the girl whispered, “she said she needed power, that someone was coming to kill her.” Fenris’s shoulders slumped, but the girl seemed not to notice. “We tried to be good. We did everything we were told.” The girl’s huge eyes were full of anguished confusion. “She loved papa's soup! I don't understand!”

Hawke fought the urge to kick the nearest slaver’s corpse in the head. “Is the magister still here?”

“I…think so,” the girl said. “The magister said they were to prepare for battle. I think she’s very frightened.”

“She has every reason to be,” Fenris replied.

“Please, don’t hurt her,” the girl urged. “She’ll be so angry if you hurt her!”

“This has been terrible for you,” Hawke said softly.

“Everything was fine until today,” she insisted.

“It wasn't,” Fenris murmured gently. “You just didn't know any better.”

“Are you my master now?” she asked Fenris shyly.

Fenris’s eyes bugged out. “No!”

“But I can cook,” the girl pressed. “I can clean.” She looked hopeless. “What else will I do?”

Hawke immediately spoke up. “If you go to Kirkwall, I can help you.”

The elven girl's eyes widened. “Yes? Oh, praise the Maker! Thank you.” Hawke gave her the address, and the girl ran off.

Fenris rounded on her. “I didn't realize you were in the market for a slave,” he snarled.

Hawke tilted her head in confusion. “I gave her a _job_, Fenris.”

“Ah,” Fenris said uncomfortably. “Then, that's good. My apologies. Let's find Hadriana and be done with this place.”

“No, just a minute,” Hawke snapped. “Fenris. Did you…did you really think I would enslave that poor girl? That I would enslave _anyone_?”

“What was I supposed to think?” Fenris demanded. “She asked if I was her master now, and then you speak up!”

“You were supposed to think that I’m not like that!” Hawke shouted. “Really, Fenris!”

“If I might interject,” Varric said, “now is _really _not the time to be fighting each other.”

Hawke sighed, running a hand through her hair. “You’re right. I’m sorry for shouting, Fenris.”

“I am as well,” Fenris said softly. “You are right. That is not who you are.”

Fenris led the way through the pen, cutting down another room of slavers. He kicked open the door on the other side of the room. Hadriana was waiting on the other side, a quartet of slavers flanking her. “You’ve made a terrible mistake coming here, slave!”

Hawke slammed her staff into the ground, the four men collapsing as their spines snapped under a crushing blast of force. “_Has he?_” She asked dangerously.

Suddenly, Hadriana’s smug smirk seemed a touch brittle. She raised her staff, but Fenris darted forward faster than Hawke had ever seen him move, his greatsword batting her staff out of her hands. The hilt came around, the pommel slamming into Hadriana’s forehead and dropping her to the ground with an impressive goose egg forming. She shook her head to clear it, glancing around for her staff.

Fenris stepped between her and it, raising his sword for the killing blow.

“Stop!” she cried. “You do not want me dead!”

He snorted. “There is only one person I want dead more.”

The woman held up a hand. “I have information, elf, and I will trade it in return for my life.”

“Ha! The location of Danarius? What good will that do me? I'd rather he lose his pet pupil.”

“You have a sister,” Hadriana said quickly. “She is alive.” Fenris faltered, and Hadriana seized the initiative. “You wish to reclaim your life? Let me go and I will tell you where she is.”

“How do we know you’re even telling the truth?” Hawke demanded, not lowering her staff from where it had been pointed – directly between Hadriana’s eyes.

“You don’t,” Hadriana admitted. “But I know Fenris, and I know what he’s searching for. If he wants me to betray Danarius, he’ll have to pay for it.”

Hawke shrugged, conceding the point. “This is your call,” she said to Fenris.

Slowly, Fenris lowered his sword. He leaned forward and down, bringing his face level with the magister's. “So I have your word?” Hadriana asked, “I tell you, and you let me go?”

Fenris locked eyes with her. “Yes,” he said. “You have my word.”

“Her name is Varania. She is in Qarinus, serving a magister by the name of Ahriman.”

“A servant?” Fenris demanded. “Not a slave?”

Hadriana gave a tiny shake of her head. “She is not a slave.”

Fenris flared blue. “I believe you.” His fist shot forward, into the magister's chest. She stared down at Fenris' hand, buried deep in her flesh, and jerked as Fenris twisted his hand. “We are done here,” he stated flatly as the corpse collapsed, turning on his heel and walking towards the exit.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hawke asked, lowering her staff.

Fenris stepped into her personal space, and Hawke had to stop herself from stepping back. “No, I don’t want to talk about it! This could be a trap. Danarius could have sent Hadriana here to tell me about this ‘sister.’ Even if he didn't, trying to find her would still be suicide. Danarius has to know about her and has to know that Hadriana knows.” He glared at Hadriana’s corpse. “_Knew_. But all that matters is I finally got to crush this bitch's heart. May she rot and all the other mages with her.”

Hawke let that one pass by. “This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t look for your sister.”

“What else should it mean?” Fenris demanded. “Even if I found my sister, who knows what the magisters have done to her? What has magic touched that it doesn't spoil?” His face slackened as he saw the hurt look on Hawke’s face. “I… need to go,” he murmured, almost inaudibly.

He left without looking back.

—ROTC—

“I thought you might like this,” Hawke said. “I found it, in some ruins.”

“You got me a gift?” Anders asked. “I hardly think I've done anything to deserve that. It's a…is that a Tevinter Chantry amulet?” He looked at her in alarm. “Do you_ want_ me to get executed? It's sacrilege to wear those in any land under the Divine.”

“Here I thought you fight for mages' rights, whoever's bad side that put you on.”

“I do like it,” Anders admitted. “Maybe not on the outside of my clothes – I’m not that eager to face the hangman's noose - but I appreciate the thought. I've never really thought what life would be like in the Tevinter Chantry. In the Circle, they make it sound like the Void itself. The Black Divine, stalking Thedas, making it unsafe for kittens and virgins.”

“I haven't noticed too many of either in Kirkwall,” Hawke said.

Anders laughed. It sounded as if he didn't make the noise nearly often enough. “And fewer every day, I suspect. I appreciate the gift. Perhaps one day I can return one as meaningful.” He paused. “I’m sorry about springing Justice on you like that,” Anders said. “The other day, in the Fade. I’ve stayed out of the Fade since we merged. I don’t like being a passenger in my own skin. I suppose Justice feels like that every day. Shackled to my body and every decision I make. No wonder it’s become a prison for him.”

“He was helpful,” Hawke said. “Not as helpful as you would have been, but you take what you can get.” She sat down on one of the patient tables. “So what’s on your mind?”

“Have you noticed how many Tranquil are in the Gallows courtyard lately?” Anders asked. “And don’t tell me I’m just sensitive to it. I’ve been watching and every day there are new Tranquil, selling their bloody wares. Good mages, too. People I know passed their Harrowing.”

Hawke frowned. “Doesn’t Chantry law say that mages who pass their Harrowing can’t be made Tranquil?”

“Exactly,” Anders said. “The Templars are using the Rite of Tranquility to silence those who speak against them. They’re working on a deliberate plan to turn every mage in Kirkwall within the next three years.”

Hawke’s jaw dropped. “That’s…monstrous. Who’s behind this?”

“The plan is the work of a Templar named Ser Alrik. I’ve had a run-in with him myself. He’s the one who did the ritual on Karl. Nasty piece of work. Likes to make mages beg.”

“A run-in?”

“I’ve been involved with an…underground resistance. Mages, living free in Kirkwall, who help others escape. I can’t tell you any more, for your sake and theirs. You have too much involvement with the Guard and nobility.”

“Neither by choice,” Hawke muttered.

“Suffice it to say, I’ve been in the Gallows. I’ve seen his work firsthand.”

“What else do you know about Alrik?”

“The knight-commander is at least sincere in her convictions. However misguided, she believes she’s helping people. Ser Alrik’s a sadist. Cold-blooded as a lizard. He likes to experiment on mages, find out what it takes to push them into the arms of demons.”

“Don’t Templars have anything better to do than come up with new ways to torment mages?” Hawke sighed.

“Apparently not. My friends in the mage underground know a way inside. A secret entrance under the walls of the Gallows. Come with me, tonight, please. Help me find evidence of Ser Alrik’s ‘Tranquil Solution.’”

“Well that’s not ominous at all.”

“That’s what he calls it,” Anders said. “His idea of a ‘peaceful’ solution to the mage problem – to sunder the mind of every mage in the Free Marches! I’m told he’s bringing his proposal to Val Royeaux, to the Divine herself. He would turn every mage in Thedas into a drooling simpleton under his command.”

Hawke wanted to deny it, to cling to the hope that even Templars would balk at such a thing, but deep down she knew there was no limit to the atrocities they would commit. “We have to stop this,” Hawke declared. “Bring it to light, where they can’t deny it.”

“I am honored by your trust,” Anders said. “I’m ready to go when you are. Our entrance is concealed not far from here.”

“Well then what are we waiting for?”

True to Anders' word, the entrance to the tunnel was nearby, and he led the way down the tunnel. “I have personally led five mages to freedom through these tunnels. They bent to kiss the ground through the sewage.” For several minutes, they moved in silence, picking their way through the tunnels with only sprites to light their way. Eventually, the pathway linked up with a larger series of tunnels lit by lanterns, and Anders held up a hand to bring them to a stop. “Lyrium smugglers often use these tunnels as well. To service the Templars who crave the stuff. Be alert.”

Hawke nodded. “Think we'll run into any?” An arrow pinged off the rock wall nearby, and Anders nodded, returning fire with a bolt of lightning. The fight was short and vicious, and when it was over Hawke made sure to loot their supply of lyrium. “This stuff is hard enough to come by, we might as well take what we can get,” she said, passing it out to the other mages in the party.

“Hawke,” Varric hissed. “Up ahead. Voices. Doesn't sound like smugglers.”

It was several Templars surrounding a single young mageling. “No, please, I haven't done anything wrong,” she begged.

“That's a lie,” a bald Templar said, his tone oily as he advanced on her. “What do we do to mages who lie?”

“I just wanted to see my mum,” the girl pleaded. “No one ever told her where they were taking me.”

Anders froze, his eyes flaring blue. “No,” he whispered, “No, this is _their_ place. We _cannot_…” The glow faded, and Hawke shot him a warning glance as the group spread out behind the Templars.

“So,” the bald Templar said. “You admit your attempted escape?” His lips curved in an almost playful smile. “You know what happens to mage girls who don't toe the line around here, don't you?”

The girl sank to her knees, trembling in fear. “Please, no!” she whimpered. “Don't make me Tranquil. I'll do anything!”

“That's right,” the Templar said, taking another step forward. “Once you're Tranquil, you'll do _anything I ask_.”

“And what exactly are you doing to that girl?” Hawke called. Before the Templars could respond, Anders' voice boomed out in the enclosed space, his voice resonating unnaturally.

“_You fiends will never touch a mage again_,” he said, before he swung his staff in both hands, a storm of lightning erupting from it and scattering the armored Templars. One died immediately, blood streaming from the eye slit on his helmet, and another fell to the ground, twitching violently as the two groups engaged. Varric shot him almost contemptuously, the man falling still as the bolt found something vital.

Hawke opened up with a sweep of her staff, spraying fire around the tunnel and cooking another Templar in his armor. The stench of burning flesh filled the tunnel as Isabela's daggers found the fourth Templar's back and slipped up under his cuirass.

Anders advanced on the last man, the bald Templar who had been leading the group. “_No more_,” he boomed. “_Never again_.” The Templar swung his sword at Anders, and the mage caught it by the blade, before shattering it dismissively and ramming his staff into the Templar's stomach. “_No more!_” He discharged lightning directly into the man's body, dropping the smoldering corpse to the ground.

But it wasn't enough. “_They will die!_” snarled Anders, spinning his staff. “_I will have every last Templar for these abuses!_”

“It's over, Anders, they're all dead,” Hawke said soothingly. “We got them.”

“_Every one of them will feel justice's burn!_”

The girl cried out and recoiled. “Get away from me, demon!”

Anders advanced on her. “_I am no demon!_” he roared. “_Are you one of them, that you would call me such?_”

“Justice!” Hawke's voice was sharp. “That girl is a mage. One of those you're trying to help! We just rescued her from being made Tranquil!”

“_She is theirs! I can feel their hold on her!_”

“She's the reason you're fighting,” Hawke pressed. “Don't turn on her now!”

Justice drew back his hand, lighting crackling around his fist, but the blue aura abruptly vanished, and Anders fell to his knees as the girl fled. “Maker, no,” he breathed, his eyes returning to their normal hue. “I almost…if you weren't here…” He stood, pushing past Hawke. “I…I need to get out of here.” He rushed off in the direction they had come, leaving them behind.

“Anyone know the way out of here?” Hawke asked.

“I think I can find our way back,” Varric said. “Come on.”

“Loot the bodies, first.”

“Way ahead of you,” Isabela called, kneeling over the bald Templar's corpse. “I think Anders will want to see this.” She stood up, holding a letter. “_This _was Ser Alrik.”

“Well, we completed our mission, then,” Hawke said, kicking the dead man in the head. “And good riddance. Let's get out of here. This place stinks.”

—ROTC—

The girl was waiting in Darktown, just outside the tunnel entrance. “You-you saved my life, messere. What was that thing?”

“He's no demon,” Hawke said evasively. “Just a deeply troubled man. What's your name?”

“Ella. Can I…go home now?”

“Find your parents, but don't stay there,” Hawke said. “You must leave Kirkwall.”

“I know,” Ella said. “There's no place in the city where Ser Alrik's men won't find me. Thank you, messere. Andraste herself must have put you in that room.”

“I can do more,” Hawke said. “Come with me.” The girl looked confused. “You won't make it far in Circle robes. We've got clothing, food.”

They cut through the basement of the estate – Anders was nowhere to be found, and the clinic was locked up tight – and Varric promised to get in touch with a few of Anders' contacts that he knew worked with the mage underground as Ella changed into something less conspicuous.

Hawke found Fenris waiting in the foyer of her estate. “I’ve been thinking about what happened with Hadriana,” he began without preamble. “I took out my anger on you, undeservedly so. I was…not myself. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Hawke said, walking past him and into the main hall with Fenris in tow.

“You are generous. When I was still a slave, Hadriana was a torment. She would ridicule me, deny my meals, hound my sleep. Because of her status, I was powerless to respond and she knew it.”

“Nothing makes a tormentor bold like knowing their victim can’t fight back,” Hawke said.

“The thought of her slipping out of my grasp now…I couldn’t let her go. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”

“If you hadn’t killed her, I would have,” Hawke said flatly. “But what do you mean, you wanted to let her go?”

“This hate…” Fenris shook his head. “I thought I’d gotten away from it. But it dogs me no matter where I go. To feel it again, to know it was they who planted it inside me…it was too much to bear. But I didn’t come here to burden you further.”

“We’re friends, Fenris,” Hawke said. “I’ve told you this before.”

“I’m not certain I know what that is,” Fenris admitted.

“It means we count on each other, rely on each other when necessary, and carry each other’s burdens,” Hawke said. “You’re not alone, Fenris. You never have to be again.”

Fenris paused, reaching into the satchel he had over his shoulder. “I brought something.” He pulled out a bottle of wine. “Last bottle of the Agreggio. I've been saving it for a special occasion.”

“And this is one?”

“It's the anniversary of my escape,” Fenris said. “_Astia valla femundis_. Care to hear the story?”

“Let's find a corkscrew first,” Hawke replied, deftly extracting the cork. “I thought you avoided talking about this.”

“Not on special occasions,” Fenris said as she poured them each a glass.

“Then I'd like to hear it.”

“Let's see. You've heard of Seheron? The Imperium and the Qunari have fought over the island for centuries, now. I was there with Danarius during a Qunari attack. I managed to get him to a ship – but there was no room for a slave. I was left behind, and I barely got out of the city alive.”

“I thought Danarius considered you valuable?”

Fenris laughed. “He wasn't given a choice. The look on his face as the ship pulled out was priceless. There are rebels in the Seheron jungles called Fog Warriors. They found me and took me in, nursed me back to health. I stayed with them for a time. Until Danarius finally came for me.”

“Were you with the Fog Warriors willingly?”

“I'd grown fond of the rebels,” Fenris admitted. “They bowed to no master and fought for their freedom. It was…beyond my experience. When Danarius came, they refused to let him take me.” He took a long drink. “He ordered me to kill them. So I did. I killed them all.”

Hawke blinked in surprise. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“It felt inevitable,” Fenris said. “My master had returned and this, this fantasy life was over. But once it was done, I looked down at their bodies. I felt…I couldn't…” He shook his head. “I ran. And never looked back.”

“Didn't Danarius stop you?”

“The rebels had wounded him. The soldiers he brought attempted to capture me – unsuccessfully. It was weeks before Danarius was able to mount the hunt in earnest, but by then I was already gone. I stowed aboard a ship to the mainland and moved south, chased by my former master every step of the way.”

“This can't have been easy to talk about,” Hawke said.

“I've never spoken about what happened, to anyone. I've never wanted to. Perhaps this is what it means to have a friend.”

Hawke smiled. “It is, Fenris. Thank you for telling me.”

Fenris raised his glass. “To you, Hawke. A finer mage I have never met.”

Bodahn cleared his throat from the door. “There’s an…elven girl here, messere? She claims she was sent here by you. I ah, didn’t know what to tell her.”

Hawke smiled as she saw the elven girl. “You made it!”

“Greetings, Mistress,” she replied. “Your home was difficult to find. I’ve never been out on my own before. But…I found it. Many people know of you. I hope I’ve made myself useful. I’ve already begun cleaning, and I can cook…not as good as papa, but a little.” She bowed her head. “Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”

“First things first,” Hawke said. “What’s your name?”

“Orana.”

“All right, Orana. I won’t have anyone working for me without pay. What sort of skills do you have?”

“Not many, I fear,” Orana said. “The magister bade me to clean, and sometimes fetch, but papa told me to keep out of her sight as much as I could.” Her eyes widened. “But I can learn! I’ll serve you well. Please don’t hurt me.”

“I’m never going to hurt you,” Hawke said gently. “You’ve been through a great deal. How are you feeling?”

“I miss papa, the other servants. I…try not to think about what happened. I even feel sorry for the magister. Is that bad?”

“I’m sure Hadriana was very thankful for such loyalty,” Hawke said diplomatically.

“I…suppose she was,” Orana said. “I’ll serve you just as well, Mistress. You’ll see.”

“It’s Hawke, not Mistress,” Hawke corrected. “If you’re staying here, it’ll be as a servant. Not a slave. You’ll be paid, like anyone else.”

“I…a slave is all I’ve ever been, like papa and grandpapa before me.” Orana smiled shyly. “I’ll try to be a good servant. Thank you, Mistress – Hawke. You’re too good to me.”

—ROTC—

Hawke batted a dagger out of a bandit’s hand, discharging a spirit bolt into the man’s face as Isabela knifed another bandit. Merrill struck her staff against the ground, vines erupting through the soil and crushing a third bandit against the ground. “That’s all of them,” Hawke said, as Isabela began looting the bodies. From the path above, they could hear the approaching guards’ conversation. Aveline was supposed to be flirting, or at least attempting to do so.

“So this route’s pretty quiet,” Donnic said.

“Yes, and it’s a real nice night for an evening,” Aveline replied brightly.

Donnic gave her a sidelong glance. “Uh…as you say, Captain.”

“_Maker_, she's bad at this,” Hawke said, shaking her head, hustling to catch up with her friends.

More bandits were up ahead, a pair of trained hounds assisting them. Hawke took them out first, trying to keep the fight short to prevent the would-be romantic interlude from being rudely interrupted by their actual jobs.

“If it isn’t done right, the blade can be too soft,” Aveline was saying as they came back within earshot. “Quenching the steel is a vital step that can make or break a sword.”

“Right,” Donnic said distractedly.

“A blade for every purpose,” Aveline babbled. “What do you think? About blades?”

Donnic glanced over. “I’m sorry, Captain. I drifted off a bit.”

“Can’t blame him,” Hawke muttered. "What is she doing?"

"Her best," Varric answered.

A third pack of bandits was waiting on the path ahead, and Hawke opened up with a frost blast, missing Anders’s fireballs as the bandits bunched up obligingly. Varric took the leader with a shot that burst into flame, scattering the remaining fighters as Fenris and Isabela went to work on them.

“Well, Guardsman, good patrol,” Aveline was saying as they came around the corner, and Hawke winced as the last bandit with a slit throat fell in full view of the guards. “I think we’re done, and I…” she stopped short as she saw the tableau in front of them – Hawke and her friends, standing over several unquestionably dead bandits, fresh blood still on their armor. “Hawke? What a surprise. What are you doing here?”

“Aveline,” Hawke said, giving her a look.

“Hawke, don’t,” Aveline pleaded.

“I think you’ll come around once it’s all out in the open.”

“Would someone please tell me what’s going on?”

“You two are adorable,” Merrill said gleefully before anyone else could speak. “Kiss him already!”

Donnic raised a confused eyebrow. “Captain?”

Aveline gave a nervous laugh. “Let me see if I can lay this all out for you,” Hawke said. “Aveline is attracted to you.”

“Hawke!”

“However, she’s been too bound up in her post to just _tell _you and see what you did with the information. And I’ve got better things to do with my time than watch her flail about like a concussed deer.”

Donnic’s eyes flicked back and forth between Hawke’s disinterested face and Aveline’s stormy glare at Hawke. “I…should get back to the barracks.”

“Do you hate me so much?” Aveline asked. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t,” Hawke said.

“I…I have to fix this. He’ll file a complaint, ask for a transfer.” She pointed at Hawke. “You! You’re coming to the barracks to explain why you put him on the spot!”

“I’m doing no such thing,” Hawke said coolly. “Maybe you missed it, but I don’t work for you, Aveline. And I _did _just explain. I’ll be there on my own time. We’ve got some other business out here to attend to.”

As Aveline stormed off, Hawke shook her head. “Some Guard-Captain. Come on. Let’s see if we can find that captured apostate, or that Qunari patrol.”

A runaway mage had been caught by bounty hunters, who would either sell her into slavery or bring her to the Templars in the Gallows. The men were ruthless but not terribly skilled, and in the close quarters they had put up a vicious but ultimately futile fight.

Backtracking along the Wounded Coast, it didn’t take long to find the remains of the Qunari, a pack of shades and a single abomination feasting on the corpses. Hawke marked the spot on her map, before squinting into the distance. “Varric, you still got that spyglass?” The dwarf passed over the spyglass, and Hawke focused down the trail, spotting guardsman’s plate. “There’s some guards down there. Why would there be a second patrol out here?”

“Aww, looks like you lost another one, guard dog,” a voice jeered as they closed in, still shielded from view by a rock formation. “Bad day, right?”

Hawke gave a low whistle, catching the guards’ attention. She gestured for them to stay put, before leading her companions towards them. As they neared, one incautious guard raised halfway out of cover and took an arrow through the visor of his helmet.

“Are you the reinforcements?” The only guard not wearing a helmet asked. She was a young woman with reddish-brown hair and looked barely old enough to be wearing the plate. “I thought the captain would send more.”

“She doesn’t know you’re out here,” Hawke said. “My name’s Hawke. Who are you?”

“I'm Lieutenant Harley, and this is what's left of my patrol. This disaster is my first ‘routine’ assignment. Little Bedden must not have made it back.”

“Calm down,” Hawke said. “What’s the situation?”

“We're up against Evet's Mauraders,” Harley said grimly.

Isabela winced. “Evet's?” she exclaimed. “Shit.”

“Fell Orden is up there,” the lieutenant continued. “And Viktor Longdeath's handiwork you've already seen. We tried two sorties up the path, but it's trapped to oblivion. Now I'd be thankful just to get out of here alive.”

“No fair, guard dog,” one of the Marauders called from further along the promontory. “You've brought friends.”

“Shut your mouth,” Harley yelled in response.

“Lieutenant, I need information. Fell Orden? Viktor Longdeath? What are you talking about?”

“They've been robbing and raping for Maker knows how long,” the lieutenant answered. “Did a broad daylight assault on the Keep to rescue one of their number two years back. Fell Orden, a blood mage, is here. Viktor Longdeath is an archer. We have to end them.”

“How many besides those two?”

“A dozen, no more,” Harley replied. “Average thugs, we’ve blooded them already.”

Hawke glanced at the guards. “All right. Keep your men back and watch our backs. Make sure that if the Marauders get past us, they don’t get past you.”

“How do you want to play this, Hawke?” Isabela asked, nervously spinning one of her daggers in her hand as they made their way up the slope.

“Fenris, I want you and Isabela to take the path around that outcropping to the right,” Hawke ordered. “It’s probably trapped, but it’ll let you get close enough to do your thing.” The elf nodded, tapping Isabela on the shoulder and moving out. “Merrill, you are going to take out that mage. Varric, if you can drop this Longdeath idiot, that would be lovely.”

“Consider it done,” Varric said.

Screams erupted farther up the slope as Fenris and Isabela went to work on the Marauders, and Varric rolled out from cover, firing a bolt from Bianca and dropping Viktor Longdeath to the ground. He put another bolt into the dying archer as Fell Orden burst into flames, courtesy of a spell from Merrill, and Hawke spun her staff, yanking several men off their feet with a pulse of force magic before crushing them into the ground.

As quickly as it had started, the fight was over, and Hawke backtracked. “Fight’s over.”

“They’re all dead?” Harley asked. “I…I can’t believe it.”

“We do good work, Hawke said, not reacting as she heard Fenris kick one of the dead Marauders in the head behind her.

“I’ll tell Lieutenant Jalen at the Keep what you’ve done. I’ll make sure he rewards you.” She raised her voice. “Men, we’re heading home!”

—ROTC—

Getting directed to Lieutenant Jalen was a simple matter. “Lieutenant Harley said I should see you about a reward,” Hawke said.

The man raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? Not even going to mention your scuffle with Evets Marauders? Killing the whole lot of them?”

“They killed a lot of good people,” Hawke replied.

“But they won’t kill anyone else, thanks to you. There’s one small rub, though. Their leader, Evets, wasn’t there, was he?”

“Not that I know of,” Hawke said. “They were led by Fell Orden.”

“Evets is the worst of the lot,” Jalen warned. “He may try to get revenge one day.”

“Good to know. I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

“Thanks again for your help,” Jalen said, handing over several sovereigns’ worth of coin. Hawke divvied it up among her companions as they crossed the Keep, heading for the barracks.

As they entered the barracks, they spotted Aveline sitting in her office with a goofy smile on her face. “Aveline.”

“Guardsman Donnic…did not file a complaint,” Aveline said dreamily. “This was all incredibly stupid. And you made it wonderful.”

“I think you can safely claim both halves of that pair,” Hawke said dryly.

“You’re sweet. I knew asking you was the right thing.”

“Let’s not make a habit of it.”

“I just…there’s no way I can ever repay you. Perhaps it’s simple. Thank you. Just shout when you need me, Hawke. I’ll always be here for you. Just…knock first.”

—ROTC—

“I’m sorry to say I found your patrol,” Hawke said. “They won’t be coming back.”

“You have stolen my duty, basra,” the Qunari said. “But it settles the issue.” He strode off without another word. Isabela caught up with them a moment later.

“Do you really like sailing?” Merrill asked as they crossed the docks.

“Like it? I love it! The salt spray on my face, the wind whipping by my ears, the gulls screaming overhead—I love it all.”

“Don't you get sick?” Merrill asked. “I was so sick on our trip across the sea.”

“Were you in the hold?”

Merrill shrugged. “Everyone was in the hold.”

Isabela nodded. “There's your problem. You need to be up on deck, under the sky, with nothing between you and the horizon. Sailing is like sex. Do it wrong, and it'll make you sick. But do it right, and there's no feeling in the world like it.” She paused. “It's not always fun and games on the sea, though. There are storms and hostile pirates. And it's trying being cooped up with men who haven't seen a woman in months.”

“You're a woman.”

“Exactly. And I don't usually let them touch me, so they get... frustrated. I insist all of them get alone time. Helps with the crankiness.”

“But they're already lonely!” Merrill protested. “Why would you insist that they be alone some more?”

“Merrill,” Isabela sighed.

“What? Did I miss something?”

“Go think about it,” Isabela said. “Maybe it'll come to you.”

The group took the ferry to the Gallows, slowly ascending the steps. “Sebastian, Aveline, can you two find Emeric?” The pair split off, and Hawke gestured to her companions, and they quickly located the harbormaster’s assistant. “I understand you have an impounded shipment of raw lyrium in?”

“The harbormaster’s office filled the order,” the man replied. “I just need a destination. Where are we sending it?”

“Ah. Of course.” Hawke took the scroll, filling in the name of the Templar the mage underground had asked them to frame. “I’ll just deliver this for you, shall I?”

“Much appreciated, friend.”

“Message for you,” Hawke said, passing the scroll off to a dockworker.

“About bloody time. We’ll deliver the cargo as soon as we’ve unloaded the Antivan Queen.” Hawke spotted Sebastian waving, and made to quickly cross the courtyard.

She stopped short, however, when she recognized a face. “Grace!”

“Yes, they found us,” Grace spat. “I’m sure you’re not surprised. The way you turned us loose with no aid, no food, only a moment’s head start, where else could we end up? It’s even worse here than I thought. Decimus was right. We should have died before submitting.”

“How long did you stay free?” Hawke asked.

“Three years,” Grace said. “On the run, living in the woods, eating carrion…and still we end up here. Three of us were made Tranquil. Meredith picked them at random.” She gave Hawke a suspicious glare. “Did you help them? You must have told them you let us go. Why else would they have hunted us so long?”

“I’m sorry. I would never have helped them.” She moved on to find Emeric standing with Aveline and Sebastian. “Hello, Emeric. Aveline says you need my help again?”

“I’ve spent the last few years continuing my investigation into the murders of Ninette, Mharen, and the other women,” Emeric said. “I believe I finally have a suspect, a man called Gascard DuPuis.”

“Templars aren’t usually shy about going after their suspects,” Hawke replied cautiously. “Is this man in hiding?”

“No, I know where DuPuis is, I just can’t get to him,” Emeric said. “When I became convinced of his guilt, I went to the city guard and demanded that they do something.”

“My men raided that house,” Aveline replied. “They found nothing, and I’ve heard no end because of it. You were reprimanded, I hope.”

“Meredith forbade me from continuing my investigation. But she didn’t say I couldn’t seek outside help,” Emeric said.

“Were you the only person investigating these murders?”

“Yes, unfortunately. The Templar Order believes this is a matter for the city guard. And the city guard, well…they rejected my evidence and dismissed the murders as isolated incidents. They don’t care either.”

“I’ve seen your evidence,” Aveline said. “Scattered notes, conjecture, nothing remotely useable. You can’t expect us to act on your hunches alone. Look what happened when we did.”

“The guards who searched Gascard’s place were incompetent,” Emeric argued. “They didn’t know what they were looking for.”

“Fine. If you insist,” Aveline said.

“I retrieved a sack of human remains,” Hawke interjected. “That’s pretty compelling evidence.”

“I did show it to them,” Emeric said. “They said the remains could’ve been gathered together by scavengers looking for bits of gold and jewelry.”

Hawke looked at her companion, aghast. “Aveline!”

“They said there was no way to tell if the remains even belonged to the missing women.”

“There wasn’t,” Aveline said coolly. “I’m sorry, Emeric, but that’s the truth of it.”

Hawke shook her head. “What have you learned about Gascard DuPuis?”

“He’s a reclusive nobleman who’s rarely seen outside his estate in Hightown,” Emeric rattled off. “He knew two of the murdered women and made inquiries about the others. It cannot be a coincidence.”

“It should be investigated, at least.”

“Thank you,” Emeric said sincerely. “I’ve faced nothing but ridicule. To hear someone say that is…encouraging.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“You’ll need to go to the DuPuis estate after nightfall. Please figure out what he’s hiding. If he’s innocent, find evidence to prove me wrong. It’s just that simple.”

“We’ll find out what’s going on,” Hawke promised. She left Emeric with a polite nod, nearly tripping over Cullen on their way back across the courtyard.

“Ah. Serah Hawke.”

“Knight-Captain,” Hawke said stiffly. “What’s this I hear about a plot to turn all mages Tranquil? Your Ser Alrik was working on that.”

“It’s true there has been some discussion of the idea,” Cullen admitted. “But as you can see, it has gone no further than that.”

“You expect us to believe that?” Anders demanded. “Three Starkhaven mages alone that you’ve rendered Tranquil – mages who passed their Harrowing!”

“Contrary to your belief, not everyone is out to persecute mages,” Sebastian snapped.

“The Harrowing has served us well enough for centuries,” Cullen insisted. “It will be up to mages themselves whether they push us to more stringent measures.”

“Stringent measures?” Hawke echoed. “Why not just drown them at birth?"

Sebastian looked affronted. "They are still the Maker's children. To kill them outright would be a sin."

"So instead you lock them up like prisoners?"

"It is the best solution for the problem,” Cullen insisted. “They are cared for, and receive training for their magic, so that they might use it to serve others. And they are kept from harm – there are many who would rather see them killed, and would take matters into their own hands otherwise."

"They are not slaves," Sebastian argued. "It is the Maker's will. Magic is meant to serve mankind, not to rule over him."

“What do you call someone who is denied freedom and exists to serve at another’s command?” Hawke asked. “I call them a slave.”

Cullen set his jaw. "You do not understand. Mages are dangerous."

“So are you,” Hawke pointed out. “You’ve trained to be dangerous.”

"But I do not risk being taken over by a demon. I do not have blood magic to coerce others to do my will," Cullen countered.

“And you’ve already proven here that demons are unnecessary to hurt other people,” Hawke said.

“I saw the atrocities mages can commit firsthand,” Cullen snapped. “Do not lecture me on what is _necessary_.”

“It sounds like you support this,” Hawke said.

“The Tranquil ritual was created as a mercy so that mages need not be killed out of hand for a threat they may pose. There is an argument to be made for applying it more widely.”

“Are you going to listen to this?” Anders demanded. “He’s no better than Ser Alrik.”

“Do you think it’s easy to contain a mage who truly wants to deal with demons?” Cullen shot back. “We have done our best. But many mages have made it clear they view the ritual as no better than death. They want no controls on them at all.”

“If that’s your best, someone else needs to take over and stop pushing them into the arms of demons,” Hawke said. “But I was just leaving, so if you’ll excuse us.”

On the ferry back to the city, Hawke rounded on Sebastian. “I understand that you’ve been with the Chantry for some time now, and you’re going to empathize with their point of view. But if you can’t see that the Templars like Cullen are just as bad as the Templars like Alrik, you’re insane or willfully blind. Just because Cullen’s never slipped into a mage’s quarters at night – that we know of – doesn’t mean that he hasn’t covered for or ignored someone else doing that. And if you can’t come to terms with that, I don’t think we’ll be working together much in the future.”

Sebastian nodded. “The Templars may seem harsh to an outsider. I will think on your words.”

Hawke doubted that anything she said to Sebastian would sink in, but she let it go.

—ROTC—

A day had passed by the time they had Ella on her way, and Hawke found the clinic open again, though for once there was nobody waiting for Anders' attentions. “This is all Ser Alrik had on him,” Hawke said, holding out the papers. “Looks like the 'Tranquil Solution' began and ended with him.”

Anders slowly took the papers, scanning them. “The Divine…rejected the idea. Meredith rejected the idea. This was…not what I expected.” He folded the letters up, stowing them in his coat. “Perhaps I should try talking to the Grand Cleric. Maybe she's more reasonable than I thought.”

“Anders, I'm not going to press you on what happened back there,” Hawke said. “But I have to know. Can you control this?”

Anders hung his head. “I…I don't know, anymore.”

“I told you before, only you can make this work,” Hawke said softly. “I'm here for you. But…if you can't maintain yourself, I don't know what to do. I'll do anything I can to help you, but you have to take the lead on this.”

“I know,” Anders replied. “I'm just…lost, right now.”

“Take some time. Have a real meal with us, get some proper rest, get yourself sorted. There's people that need you here in Kirkwall.” Hawke gave him a crooked smile. “And I'm one of them.”

“You know, I've been meaning to thank you,” Anders said. “Having someone like you make a name for themselves in Kirkwall, it's done a lot for mages. You're the kind of leader we need. To tell the world we won't be punished any longer for our Maker-given gifts.”

“You know me, Anders, I won't stand by while the Templars hunt and murder innocents.”

Anders gave her a genuine smile. “I can't tell you how reassuring that is. Sometimes, you're the only reason I don't think I'm crazy. That you still believe in me…I know you meant it. You wouldn't say it just to make me feel better. You make me feel I can really do this, lead a revolution.”

“I didn't realize you were planning anything that big,” Hawke said.

“No small change would address the injustice that mages face. The Chantry itself must be overturned. There will always be mages born in Thedas. But Templars are made by men - and they can be _unmade_. Why do you think your parents gave up everything to keep you and your sister out of the Circle? In the Circle, they tell you day and night that magic is a sin, a mark on your soul of the Maker's hatred. But for all the talk of demons, the most common cause of death I saw for a mage was suicide.”

“I've got your back,” Hawke said. “Together, we'll win this fight.”

“Your faith inspires me. Sometimes, I fear I cannot do this. Not while I struggle against this vengeance inside me. But I know you won't let me lose myself to him.”

—ROTC—

“I’m sorry we took so long to come up here, Merrill,” Hawke said as they climbed the path to the Dalish encampment.

“I’m just glad you’re here,” Merrill said softly. She nudged Anders. “Are you all right?”

Anders looked at her incredulously. “I nearly killed an innocent girl. How could I be all right? There is no definition of alright that fits this state.”

“I'm sorry.”

Anders snorted. “You're sorry? For me? This could be you! You could be the next monster threatening helpless girls!”

Merrill shook her head. “Anders... There's no such thing as a good spirit. There never was. All spirits are dangerous. I understood that. I'm sorry that you didn't.”

They passed the sentries at the edge of the encampment without incident, beyond the icy glare one of them gave Merrill.

“Keeper,” Merrill said as they approached.

Marethari’s face brightened hopefully. “You return to us, da’len. Have you reconsidered this path at last?”

“I…” Merrill swallowed hard.

“Go on, I’m with you,” Hawke said, nudging her.

“Thank you, Hawke.” Visibly steeling herself, Merrill turned back to Marethari. “Keeper, I need the arulin’holm, the ancient carving blade that Master Ilen keeps.”

Marethari’s good cheer vanished. “I see. You wish to rebuild the eluvian.”

“You don’t have to approve of it,” Merrill said. “I’m invoking vir sulevanan. I’ll do whatever task you wish.”

“Well, I’m glad to know I can still disapprove,” Marethari said archly. “It is your right. I will give you a service to perform, if you insist.”

“Pardon my ignorance, but what did Merrill invoke?” Hawke spoke up.

“Our history belongs to all Dalish, child, so our clan’s most cherished relics can be claimed by everyone,” Marethari explained. “Any Dalish can perform a service for the clan and gain ownership of such an item. For a time. That is what Merrill has invoked. Even if she has chosen to live apart, she is still one of the people.”

“Oh. I see.” Hawke glanced between Merrill and Marethari, neither elf speaking. “We appreciate your help. This means a lot to Merrill.”

“I’m glad Merrill has a friend in you, child,” Marethari replied. “I hope you will look after her.”

“I can take care of myself, Keeper,” Merrill said.

“Merrill doesn’t need someone to look after her,” Hawke agreed. “She needs someone to believe in her.”

Marethari chose not to comment on Hawke’s words. “A varterral has taken the lives of three of our hunters. It lairs in a cavern in the mountainside. Seek it out, slay it. No one else must fall to its anger. Do this for us, and I will give you the arulin’holm. May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent.”

They cut through the Dalish camp, ignoring the stares and glares coming their way. “I realize they don’t like humans, but even I’m getting some looks,” Varric murmured.

Aveline gave Isabela a sour look. “I had trouble with another one of your women, Isabela. She stole from a…distracted client. You're lucky she wasn't jailed.

“My women?” Isabela echoed. “I am but a shepherd. And what free enterprise are you oppressing now?”

“Theft is not enterprise.”

Isabela waved it off. “Opportunities insufficiently guarded. Victimless crimes.”

“Except for all the victims,” Aveline pointed out.

“Details. Victimless details.” Aveline rolled her eyes, and Isabela’s gaze took on a mischievous glint. “So, how good is Donnic? Is he cocksure?”

Aveline sighed heavily “Just... get it out of your system.”

“Did he curl your toes? Dwarf your beard? Praise your Maker? Dampen your Divine? Explore your Deep Roads?” She paused. “Or master your taint? That's an old one.”

“Yes, all right? He is an incredibly proficient lover. Happy?”

Isabela took a half-step back. “Well that's rather personal, don't you think?”

Hawke sighed as several possessed skeletons erupted through the dirt. “Ladies, can we focus please?”

Killing the skeletons only took a few moments, and Hawke led the way into the cave the varterral used as a hunting ground, casting sprites to light their path. Giant spiders were the first signs of life they saw, and once they were dead Merrill knelt, recovering an amulet from a dead Dalish elf. “Radha,” she said mournfully. “Falon’Din guide you, lethallan.”

“What were the hunters doing in here?” Hawke asked.

“The Keeper would have sent them to recover elven artifacts from the varterral before the camp had to move again.”

Hawke’s jaw dropped. “So your Keeper sent them to their deaths?”

“No, normally they let the Dalish come and go as we please,” Merrill explained. “Something must have provoked it.”

They found another hunter’s remains in a dead-end branch of the cavern. “Why did this happen?” Merrill said as Hawke recovered the hunter’s amulet. “Oh, Harshal, I’m so sorry. I’ll tell Ineria for you.”

“Do we need to do anything with the body?” Hawke asked. “I mean, do the Dalish…do anything with them?”

“The clan will recover the bodies once the varterral is dead,” Merrill said.

The next recognizable corpse was past more spiders and a pack of skeletons that had been left in various pieces. “I think this is our third hunter,” Hawke said.

“Chandan!” Merrill closed her eyes, fighting back tears. “Tread carefully, lethallin. May the Trickster never find you in the beyond.” Hawke stood over the corpse, Chandan’s amulet hanging from her hand. “We should give their clan amulets to the Keeper. Their families should know that they died bravely.”

They heard a cry from up ahead, and Merrill looked over. “Another hunter? But who?”

“Is someone there?” Hawke called. “It’s safe, you can come out.”

“Hello?” An elf in Dalish armor stepped out, and Hawke tilted her head as she saw none of the usual tattoos on the elf’s face. “Praise Andras – I mean the Creators. I thought I’d never get out of…” He stopped short as he saw Merrill. “_Merrill_.”

“Aneth ara, Pol,” Merrill said, happy to see one of her clan alive. “Are you hurt?”

“Stay back,” Pol cried, backing up the way he had come. “What do you want from me?”

“Pol, what’s wrong?” Merrill asked, confused. “I’m here to help!”

“Stay back!” Pol shouted. “Don’t touch me!”

“Merrill couldn’t hurt you if she tried,” Hawke said. “At worst she might make frowny faces.”

“She’ll do worse than hurt me!” Pol insisted. “Don’t you know what she is?” He turned, running back the way he had come. “Creators, help me. Someone, _please_!”

“Pol, no!” Merrill glanced to Hawke. “We have to catch him, hurry!”

Hawke led them after Pol. “Doesn’t he know there’s a varterral that way?” She drew her staff as she heard an inhuman screech ahead. “What’s a varterral, anyway?”

A varterral turned out to be a giant, five-legged, two-armed creature with gray armor plating all over it. It walked like a spider, but its upper body was narrow and lean.

Hawke tilted her head back so she could look the monstrosity in the eyes. “The ancient elves had no sense of subtlety, did they?”

“Maker have mercy,” Sebastian whispered.

“It's like a spider fucked a praying mantis,” Hawke continued. “And then someone spent two weeks straight beating the offspring with the ugly stick!”

“Hold on, Pol! We’re coming!” Merrill called.

“More giant monsters,” Anders griped, freezing the varterral in place with a burst of frost. “I thought I left this nonsense with the Wardens!”

Hawke dragged Merrill out of the way of a glob of spittle from the varterral that hissed angrily when it hit the soil nearby, both mages returning fire with lightning bolts as Aveline and Fenris closed in. Aveline’s shield rang like a gong when it absorbed a strike from one of the varterral’s free legs, and Fenris’s greatsword came down, messily severing the offending leg. Aveline hacked at another one, ducking a dismissive kick from the beast as Anders dropped a fireball on top of the creature’s head.

Fenris rolled out of the way of a downward stomp from the varterral and stabbed upwards, his greatsword sinking deep into the creature’s unarmored underbelly. Foul ichor rained down on him as he twisted the blade, opening the wound. He ripped the greatsword free and dodged out of the way as the varterral collapsed, dead.

Merrill knelt next to the fallen hunter. “Pol! Maybe it’s not too late! Anders, Hawke, you can save him, can’t you?”

Hawke took one look at the body and felt her spirits fall. She glanced at Anders, the healer shaking his head somberly. Pol’s neck and chest had been laid wide open by the varterral, deep enough that she could see bone. The armor hadn’t even slowed the strike that killed him. “I’m sorry, Merrill.”

“Why did you run?” Merrill sobbed, tears falling freely. “You shouldn’t have run!”

Hawke knelt next to her, pulling her into a hug. “Easy, Merrill. Why was he so scared?”

Merrill shook her head, still crying into Hawke’s shoulder. “Creators, I don’t know.”

“Then there was nothing you could have done,” Hawke said. “Isabela, help me here?”

“Come here, Kitten,” Isabela said softly, putting her hands on Merrill’s shoulders and pulling her up.

“He was more afraid of me than the varterral,” Merrill hiccupped. “Pol wasn’t like the others. He was city-born. Worldly. He ran away from Denerim and found us.” She wiped her eyes, sniffling. “I thought if anyone would understand, he would. This…something is very wrong. I want to see the Keeper.”

Hawke nodded, kneeling and recovering the amulet that Pol wore. “Come on. Let’s get out of this place.”

“He acted like I was a monster!” Merrill whimpered as they backtracked out of the caves.

“You _are _a monster.” Fenris may have had something more to say, and Isabela was opening her mouth to respond, but Hawke was faster. Fenris's nose gave a muffled crunch as it broke under Hawke's fist. The warrior staggered back, more surprised than injured, and the butt of Hawke's staff thumped the ground, healing magic fixing the injury as quickly as Hawke had inflicted it.

“Listen close, Fenris,” Hawke hissed. “I get that you have your issues. We all do. But now is _not the time_.” Fenris glared at her, and for a split-second Hawke thought she had gone too far, but the elf simply nodded.

Thankfully, nothing else accosted them on their way back out, and Hawke led the way back across the Dalish camp. “The varterral is dead,” Hawke said.

“Ma serannas. I’ll breathe easier, knowing that we will lose no more people to it.”

“We found these,” Merrill said dully, handing over the four amulets.

“I’ll return them to their families,” Marethari promised.

“We lost Pol,” Merrill said, her eyes still damp. “In the cave, he…he fled at the sight of me. Straight into the varterral.”

“Many of the clan fear you’ll bring back the corruption – or worse – from the mirror.”

Merrill’s eyes narrowed. “And where did they get _that _idea?”

“I am their Keeper, da’len,” Marethari said haughtily. “It was my duty to warn them. It’s still not too late for you to return to us. Reconsider. There’s no need for you to live alone.”

“Must we go over this again?” Merrill asked angrily. “You’ll never accept what I’m doing.”

“Even if she did return, you’ve poisoned the entire clan against her,” Hawke interjected. “How is she supposed to deal with that?”

Marethari ignored her. “The eluvian is a trap. It cost us Tamlen. It led you to blood magic. Will you let it twist you further from who you really are?”

Merrill crossed her arms. “And who am I? We’ve done as you asked. Honor our bargain. Give me the arulin’holm.”

Marethari turned the tool over in her hands. “Hawke, because Merrill won’t listen, I give this heirloom of my clan to you for safekeeping. Please…don’t let her do this.” Without another word, she handed it to Hawke and left.

“Thank the Creators. I thought…maybe she’d go back on her word,” Merrill breathed.

“I believe in what you’re doing, Merrill, but is it worth restoring this mirror if it turns your clan against you?” Hawke asked.

“You know what it’s like to lose everything, Hawke. Not just our land and freedom, but our history, stories, language, magic, rituals. Even our gods are gone! It is a sacrifice, but if the mirror restores even one fragment of the past, it’s worth it.”

Hawke immediately handed the arulin’holm to Merrill. “I hope this helps you finish your work on the eluvian.”

Merrill took it gratefully. “Thank you. I knew you would understand.” She glanced about, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Let’s be away from here. The others are giving me the evil eye.”

—ROTC—

The group split up at the Hanged Man, Merrill heading back to her apartment as most of the others stopped for a drink. Hawke was a few minutes behind her, taking a detour to the estate before heading to the alienage and finding the elf sitting in front of the eluvian. “Hawke, I could never have faced the Keeper myself. I never imagined a human would help me restore Dalish history. No one ever understood. Not the Keeper, not my clan, just you.”

“I’d do anything for you,” Hawke said. “When the eluvian is finished, they’ll appreciate all you’ve done for them.”

“It’s all right,” Merrill said. “Even if they hate me forever, I’ll know I helped them. You’re the first real friend ever I’ve had. Everyone else that I care for thinks I’m a monster. I just keep thinking of Pol’s face…”

Hawke put a hand on her shoulder. “That’s nonsense. It’s hard to imagine someone more loveable than you. What happened in the cave wasn’t your fault. Pol did that to himself.”

“I know, but I caused it,” Merrill said. “Or the clan did, filling his head with terrible stories about me. You’re a true friend, Hawke. I’ll find a way to make this up to you, lethallan. That’s a promise.”

“While I’m here, I got you something,” Hawke said. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you, but with Anders and Fenris and everything else, I…just didn’t have time.”

Merrill cooed as Hawke handed over the tiny wooden halla. “Did you get this from Master Ilen?”

“I suppose you would recognize his work. I made a trip up there a couple weeks ago.”

Merrill’s eyes widened. “Mythal! Did I miss some important occasion? I’m so sorry! I’ll make it up to you, I promise!”

Hawke chuckled. “There’s no occasion, Merrill, I just thought you’d like it.”

“I-I do like it! I’m sorry I’m making a mess of this.” She looked down at the carved halla. “No one has ever given me a present before. Useful things. Tools or clothes. Because I needed them. Not…just because.” She smiled broadly. “Ma serannas. I’ll find a good place for this.”

—ROTC—

_Isabela - After the Deep Roads  
Isabela spent the the past several years trying to track down the relic that she lost in the shipwreck. She believes that it's still in Kirkwall, though why she thinks so is a mystery. Despite her insistence that she's keeping a low profile to avoid her old employer, Castillon, Isabela seems to go out of her way to cause trouble. Recently, one of her duels evolved into a bar brawl that then spilled out into Lowtown. Involving over twenty people, the fracas caused a great deal of damage to several merchant stalls._

_Isabela spent the next two weeks in the brig. Guard-Captain Aveline allowed her release, but not before extracting a promise—that Isabela would not duel on public property again. Whether Isabela actually keeps this promise remains to be seen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.


	16. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all the chapters can be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Merrill - After the Deep Roads  
“It's a Keeper's place to remember! Even the dangerous things.”_

_Since her arrival in Kirkwall's elven alienage, Merrill has had difficulty adjusting. Her neighbors ignore her existence, and even the most determined socialites in Lowtown cross the street to avoid her. She also gets lost frequently, a matter that doesn't seem to be solving itself through time or familiarity with the city; on separate occasions, she has accidentally found herself in the viscount's bathing room, the chantry airing cupboard, and in the middle of a dog racing track in Darktown._

—ROTC—

“You got that lock yet?” Hawke asked.

Varric sighed around a mouthful of lockpicks. “No, for the fourth time. It’s a strong lock. Just hold your potatoes.” He jiggled the last pin into place and twisted, the lock opening with the rasp of metal on metal. “That’s got it.”

The house appeared deserted, but that changed quickly as they moved into the DuPuis estate. Shades erupted from the shadows in the corners, and the group backed up towards the door, only to find their escape cut off. Fenris barreled forward, bisecting a shade as the others divvied up the remainder among themselves and set to destroying the spirits.

“Looks like we’re in the right place,” Fenris said grimly as the last one fell.

They pushed into what appeared to be a formal dining room. There was a fire in the hearth, but no signs of occupation beyond that and no sign anyone had dined in the room. Hawke picked up a letter from the table, reading it by the fire. “This looks like a letter from the Starkhaven Circle. They're telling him off for asking about missing mages.”

Varric glanced over, his crossbow still at the ready. “That Templar Emeric said something about DuPuis asking about a mage from Starkhaven, didn't he?”

“They certainly weren't pleased with his interest,” Hawke murmured.

“Maybe Gascard was looking for help from another mage,” Varric suggested.

“Could be,” Hawke said as they cut across to the bedrooms. She spotted an official-looking note on a table in the hallway and held it near a candle to read it. “Emeric mentioned they’d raided the estate. Looks like Meredith had to write an official apology to Gascard. Wonder why. It’s not as if the Templars care about offending anybody around here.”

“But it helps to at least appear apologetic,” Varric said.

“Clever,” Fenris said. “He stopped Emeric from investigating by getting Meredith on his side.”

They found a chest of women’s clothing in a side bedroom. “Perhaps they were taken off the murdered women?” Fenris suggested.

Hawke grimaced. “I hope not. Let’s just…hope DuPuis has a sister, or something.”

There was a scream from down the hall, and Hawke barreled back out the door, kicking the door to the last bedroom open. “Help me! Please!” A woman on her knees screamed. A man with a staff across his back stood in front of her, his back to Hawke. “He’s gone mad!”

The man – who could only be Gascard DuPuis – turned, his eyes widening. He was a young man, with shoulder-length chestnut hair held back from his face by thin braids. He spoke clearly, though with an Orlesian accent. “You’re not…you’re not him! Shit.” He turned, and Varric raised Bianca until the man raised his hands placatingly. “I know what this looks like, but I didn’t hurt her!”

“Let her go, and we can talk,” Hawke said, not lowering her staff.

“If I let her go, you’ll kill me!”

“Probably,” Hawke admitted. “But if you don’t let her go, we’ll _definitely_ kill you. Your choice.”

“I don’t know why you’re here, but there’s a killer out there, and I think he’s playing us both! Just…just let me explain!”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “All right. We’ll see if you can talk yourself out of this.”

“Twenty silver if he says, _'It wasn't me, it was the one-armed man!'_” Varric scoffed.

“Several years ago, my sister was murdered,” Gascard said. “The bastard’s now in Kirkwall, killing again. The same way he killed my sister. It starts with a bouquet of white lilies. He sends them to each new victim.” He gestured at the woman on the floor. “Alessa was going to be next. I took her so he’d have to come to me. I was finally going to face my sister’s killer, but then you showed up.”

“He’s lying,” Alessa whimpered. “He hurt me!”

“I’ve explained this!” Gascard sighed. “I need your blood to track you down if he took you. It was for your protection!”

“Alessa, you can go,” Hawke said. “If Gascard raises so much as a finger to stop you, it’ll be the last thing he ever does.” The woman didn’t stop to listen to the rest of what Hawke said, pushing herself to her feet and running for the door.

“She’ll go straight to the city guard,” Gascard said. “They’ll ruin everything.”

“Right now, we’re your biggest problem,” Hawke replied. “Why haven’t you brought this to the city guard yourself?”

Gascard raised an eyebrow. “Why? I don’t want him arrested. This isn’t about justice. I _need _to be the one to bleed him dry. Besides, they probably wouldn’t even hear me out.”

“Emeric was certain you were the killer,” Hawke said.

Gascard rolled his eyes. “Of course he was. But I was trying to find the killer, just like him. Our paths crossed, and he just assumed I was the murderer.”

“Considering you kidnapped a woman, I’m not sure he was too far off the track,” Hawke pointed out. “Who is this killer, anyway?”

“He’s a powerful and experienced blood mage,” Gascard explained. “I believe he uses the women for some ritual. His victims are attractive, healthy women with few social ties.”

“This doesn’t add up,” Hawke said. “I can’t let you go.”

Gascard’s eyes widened. “No! I’ve worked too hard! It can’t end like – _gurkh_!” He gurgled as a crossbow bolt sprouted from his throat, and Varric fired again, putting a bolt through Gascard’s forehead.

“We’ll need to tell Emeric,” Varric said, loading a fresh bolt.

“I’m not going to the Gallows at night,” Hawke replied. “I hate going there to begin with, I’m not going to go when there’s no witnesses.”

—ROTC—

Emeric was nowhere to be found, but another Templar – Moira, Hawke recalled – frowned as Hawke approached.

“Aren’t you Hawke?” Moira asked. “Emeric left not long ago. He said you’d arranged to meet tonight.”

“Perhaps you’re mistaken.”

“I am not mistaken,” Moira said archly. “You sent him a message a half hour ago. Look.” She passed over a note, and Hawke frowned.

“This isn’t my handwriting. I didn’t send this.”

“You didn’t? Strange.” She shrugged. “Well, I don’t know. Emeric’s been acting strangely for months. It’s probably just a misunderstanding.”

—ROTC—

Hawke had conflicting feelings about the scene in front of her. On the one hand, a dead Templar was always a good thing. On the other, Emeric was the only other person hunting for the killer, and the shade standing over the corpse proved that the late Gascard DuPuis wasn’t the killer.

More shades flooded the blind alley, as well as an unbound Desire demon. Hawke called down a tempest, lightning disrupting the shades as Isabela’s blades slashed into the Desire demon. Fenris backed up, nudging Varric back behind him as his blade kept the shades at bay. The dwarf leaned out to the side, firing around Fenris.

Anders and Merrill joined their spells, firestorms blazing in the tight confines of the alley as Hawke blew a shade into fragments with a blast of force.

The last shade fell as Templars entered the alley, and Anders and Merrill fell back, hiding behind the others.

“Hrmph,” snorted Varric. “Figures they'd show up now.”

“Some mage sent that thing here to kill him,” Moira said. “Why would anyone…” She raised a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Maker, the _murders_. Emeric was right! He was getting too close. He suspected a man named Gascard DuPuis. Do you think he did this?”

“DuPuis is dead,” Hawke said. “He was a blood mage. I was going to tell Emeric, but…” she looked down at his bloodied corpse. “Poor sod never even got the news. Find a woman named Alessa. She was the killer’s next target. You find her, you have a way to trap this bastard.”

“We’ll look into it,” Moira promised. “I’ll make sure Emeric didn’t die in vain.”

“Well, that was a waste of a day,” Hawke sighed as they left. “Risked everybody’s lives how many times, and we didn’t even catch the killer!”

Varric nudged Fenris. “So what do you do in that gigantic house all day?”

“Dance, of course,” Fenris said as if it were obvious.

Varric raised an eyebrow. “_Really?_”

“I run from room to room, choreographing routines.”

“You're actually joking. Alert the Chantry! They need to put this on the calendar!”

“And you thought I was always serious,” Fenris said.

“You _are _always serious,” Hawke insisted.

“And who's to say I'm not in this case?” Fenris asked. “It's true.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Varric asked.

Fenris smiled serenely. “Because no one will ever believe you.”

Varric's face fell. “No, no! _You sick son of a bitch._”

—ROTC—

Hawke entered the barracks. Seneschal Bran ignored her as he stalked past, leaving Aveline behind with a look of deep irritation on her face. “Trouble, Hawke?”

“Seems like you have enough,” Hawke replied. “I saw Bran.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Aveline griped. “I’m up to my tail in thieves, cheats, Bran. I don’t need you in here, too. Go have fun or something. There’s work to do.”

“I’ve been doing work. Yours, specifically,” Hawke said. “Emeric’s dead. Killed by a shade. He got too close to something. I’m not sure what it was, though. But I’m telling you, he was on to something.”

“And this Gascard DuPuis he was so sure was the killer?” she asked. “Were you able to find any evidence against him?”

Hawke shrugged. “Gascard DuPuis was involved in this, but only peripherally,” she said. “His sister was one of the killer's previous victims. He was out for revenge, but there were too many things that didn’t make sense. We killed him.”

“All right,” Aveline sighed. “That’ll cause problems.”

“Less than you’d think. He was a blood mage. The Templars should be glad there’s one less in Kirkwall.”

“Anything else?”

“The Templars are looking for a woman named Alessa – I think she's from Hightown. Graying hair, pale complexion. Gascard believed she was the killer's next victim. Have you seen her?”

“No. Should I have?”

“Gascard was using her as bait for the killer. She escaped when I was talking with him. I assumed she would come straight here.”

“I haven't seen a report, and I would think that the name DuPuis would put my men on alert.”

Hawke nodded. “I saw the apology Meredith wrote him when I was checking out his estate. Maybe this will get some of the heat off of you. But let’s be honest, you enjoy tailing me.”

“Sometimes. But you’re becoming a problem.”

“One you allow,” Hawke shot back.

“You shouldn’t be so eager to test that. I give you less special treatment than you think.” Hawke kept her comments on the integrity of a guard who gave special treatment to her friends unsaid. “There’s a lot of pressure to make the city guard more like the Templars. Cage potential troublemakers, just in case. Can’t imagine you’d like that.”

“You’re not one of those ‘order at any cost’ people, Aveline.”

“And what would you know about it?”

“That wasn’t a taunt. We spar a bit, but we both have limits.”

“And the Templars do not, is that it?”

“No, they don’t,” Hawke spat. “You know as well as I do that they don’t answer to anyone but themselves. And you’d be a fool to try the same tactics. People would revolt.”

“Criminals would revolt,” Aveline corrected.

“And they aren’t people?” Hawke asked pointedly. “How big would your Gallows be?”

“That’s not fair. I’d never…not intentionally.” She groaned. “There you go again, seeding your little doubts. As if I don’t have enough. Just…leave, all right?”

“Fine,” Hawke said tiredly. “I’ve got better things to do. If you hear about a disturbance in Hightown tonight…don’t ask too many questions.”

—ROTC—

Varric kicked the door open and strode into Bartrand’s estate, a dozen men waiting in the foyer. Their leader glared at him.

Varric glared back.

“So that’s how you greet your brother is it, Bartrand? Fine.” He drew Bianca. “Say hello, Bianca!” Their leader charged, and Varric put a bolt through his heart, dropping him with one shot. The others drew weapons, and Varric fired again, dispensing shots among the thugs even as his duster turned aside arrows easily. He fired a packet of arrows contained in a sabot that scattered the bolts among the enemy, dropping several of them at once.

“Bartrand! I’m coming for you, you nug-humping bastard!” More men swarmed into the room from side rooms, and Varric sent an incendiary arrow into one doorway, blocking it off with flames as a man charged at him. Varric ducked a clumsy axe swing, putting his boot into the man’s crotch and laying into him with a spring-loaded bayonet. The man collapsed in pieces, and Varric pushed up the stairs, firing arrow after arrow into the thugs. “I’ll take you all!”

Varric fought his way to the top of the stairs, firing down at the remaining fighters, before hearing footsteps behind him and firing again.

Three men in a row collapsed, the arrow over-penetrating each one to kill the man behind him. As the last one collapsed, Varric reloaded, finding Bartrand kneeling behind them.

“Oh, Varric! Please forgive me, my brother. I was just jealous of you. How could I ever compete with you for Mother’s love? You’re strong and handsome and so very smart!”

—ROTC—

Cassandra glared at Varric.

“What?”

“Why lie now about this?” Cassandra asked. “What have you to gain?”

“What do you want from me?” Varric replied. “I broke in, I found my brother, and it was awkward. Family business.”

“No, I think there’s more to it.”

Varric sighed. “Fine. You want the gory details, I’ll give you the gory details.”

—ROTC—

They used a side entrance, coming in through a storeroom. Things almost immediately took a turn for the worse when they found several dead bodies piled in the storeroom. “These corpses aren’t even stiff yet, Hawke,” Varric reported. “Somebody’s been in here today.”

Several gibbering guards were in the next room. Luckily, they were crazed enough to put up a vicious but inefficient fight, and Varric shook his head as the last one hit the floor. “What did my brother do to these men? They were completely out of their heads.”

More guards fell to them as they progressed through the house. Their form was sloppy, but they ignored pain that would have stopped normal men. Hawke cast a glance about the latest room. “Does this place seem a bit…rough, to you?”

“Tiles coming up, dust and cobwebs everywhere, general state of disrepair, yeah, I’d say something was up,” Varric said. “This place wouldn’t have fallen apart this quickly. It was probably looted when Bartrand skipped town the first time, but looters wouldn’t have torn it apart like this.”

The main hall was witness to the largest fight yet, with over a dozen men charging at Hawke’s party only to be cut down quickly by Fenris and Isabela. “A couple of archers up there could have complicated matters,” Hawke said, pointing at the landing above them. “We’re lucky these men are crazed.”

“Please don’t give the loonies advice on tactics,” Isabela replied.

“Varric?” Hawke spun, her staff coming up. “Is that you?” A short-haired dwarf stepped out from a side room, his hands raised to show he wasn’t a threat. “Praise the ancestors!”

Varric held out an arm to stop Hawke. “Hold up. I know this man. He’s Bartrand’s steward.” He turned back to the dwarf. “Hugin, what happened here?”

Hugin’s face was grim. “Varric, your brother…that statue he brought out of the Deep Roads, Bartrand said it _sang _to him. Even after he sold it. I’ve been hiding in here, but the guards, they’re like crazed animals. I didn’t dare go past them. Everyone in this house has gone mad!”

“What did Bartrand do to these guards?”

“He’s been forcing them to eat lyrium,” Hugin said. “Some of the servants, he…cut pieces off them while they were alive. He says he’s trying to help them hear the song. Please, stop him.”

“Bartrand’s not exactly a nice guy, but this doesn’t sound like my brother,” Varric said.

“You said he sold the statue,” Hawke said. “To who? If this statue causes insanity, then they’re in danger too.”

“I don’t know who he sold it to,” Hugin replied. “It’s why we came back to Kirkwall. He was already starting to rant about the sodding idol and its singing. On his better days, he hated the thing, wanted to get rid of it. But the minute it was gone, he got worse.”

“I haven’t seen anyone alive in here except for guards,” Hawke said. “I’m a little afraid to ask this, but…what happened to the rest of the staff?”

“I don’t know what Bartrand did to them,” Hugin admitted. “By the Ancestors, the sounds coming from his study…they’re dead by now. I hope.”

“What do you mean you hope they’re dead?” Bartrand asked.

“Just whoever, _whatever_ you find in that room, Varric, give them a merciful death.”

“Everything will be all right,” Hawke said. “You’re safe now.”

“I wish I believed that, human,” Hugin said. “Bartrand took the servants and locked himself inside the study. No one’s come out for days.”

“Then we go in after him,” Varric declared. “Come on, Hawke. Let’s finish this.”

He kicked the door in, seeing Bartrand drawing a bloodstained knife. “I’ll make your blood and bones sing the song for me!”

“Not a chance,” Hawke said as Bartrand lunged. She lobbed a lump of conjured stone, the projectile ricocheting off the dwarf’s skull.

He dropped to his knees, shaking his head. “What? I can’t…I can’t…hear it anymore. I just need to hear the song again…just for a minute…” His head jerked around, and he scowled. “Stop saying that! I know I shouldn’t have sold the idol to that woman! It was a mistake! A mistake…”

Varric grabbed him the tunic. “Bartrand, get ahold of yourself! Do you know where you are? Do you know what you’ve done?”

Bartrand’s glazed eyes focused on him. “Varric! You’ll help me, won’t you little brother? Help me find it again? You were always the good one…”

“Help you?” Varric shook him. “Bartrand, you left me to die! You left all your men to die! And for what? Some trinket? Look at yourself! Look at what you’ve done to the men and women who served you! Where’s your nobility, brother? Where’s your dwarven honor?”

“This doesn’t feel natural,” Anders said. “If he wasn’t a dwarf, I’d think a demon did this. His mind has been…poisoned by something powerful.” Light flared around his hands, and Bartrand’s eyes cleared. “That’s all I can do. It won’t last. I’m sorry.”

Bartrand looked around wildly, focusing on his brother. “Varric?”

“I’m here.”

“Varric, what have I done?”

“I don’t know,” Varric said softly. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Make it stop, little brother. Don’t let me…don’t let House Tethras fall like this. I know I don’t deserve it. But please, Varric, don’t leave me like this. Make it stop.”

“Enough with the speeches!” Varric said. “I’ll get you to a healer, and you’ll be fine.”

“I doubt that staying in this house is helping his condition,” Hawke offered.

“I’ll send someone to come get him.” Varric turned back to his brother. “Sit tight, brother, help is on the way,” Varric promised. “Come on, Hawke. The sooner we get out of this house, the better.”

“Are you all right?” Hawke asked as they left the building. “Did you need something?”

“A stiff drink, maybe,” Varric muttered. “I feel like I’ve been kicked by a horse. I almost wish Blondie hadn’t wiggled his fingers and cleared Bartrand’s head. I liked it better when I just wanted to kill the bastard.”

“If I ever had doubts about who was the better brother, they’re long gone,” Hawke said. “You did good.”

“Please, Hawke, there was never any doubt,” Varric scoffed. “I’m the handsome, irresistibly charming one. I’ll deal with Bartrand somehow. Maker, that’ll be even more of a joy than it used to be.” He rubbed his forehead. “I still can’t believe what he did in that house. It’s one thing to walk away and leave us to die, but _that_?”

“Bartrand might have been cruel, merciless, and backstabbing, but…” Hawke trailed off. “Well, he’s still that way. But he didn’t do this on his own. The artifact from the thaig warped his mind.”

“Don’t let him completely off the hook,” Varric said. “He chose to steal the damned thing. He brought it on himself. I’ll keep looking into who bought that blighted statue. At the very least, they need to be warned about what happened.”

—ROTC—

“Sebastian,” Hawke said, stopping short as she entered the estate the next night. “Not to be rude, but what are you doing in my house?”

“Varric said we were to visit the Harimanns tonight,” Sebastian replied. “He said to meet here.”

“Ah.” She glanced around, seeing no signs of anyone else. But then, if the Templars had been alerted, it would already be too late.

“Your hound is a mark of nobility in Ferelden, is he not?” Sebastian asked. Hopper barked in response. “I have heard that gaining a mabari’s loyalty is considered the ultimate proof of character there.”

Hawke forced a smile. “That’s him. My own living, breathing, slobbering status symbol.”

“A dog cares nothing for worldly power. The Maker would like to see us learn from them.” Hopper barked again, and Sebastian smiled, bowing to the hound.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Hawke warned the dog.

—ROTC—

Sebastian led the way to the Harimann estate, frowning as they approached the front door. “That’s strange. The door’s wide open. And not a single guard posted. This is not the Lady Harimann I remember…”

The foyer of the estate was deserted. Hawke didn’t expect a warm welcome from someone who attempted to kill an entire family, but the only signs of life at all were the lit candles along the walls. “This is eerie,” Varric said, voicing Hawke’s thoughts. “No servants? No guards at all?”

“There is something very wrong in here,” Sebastian agreed, one hand on his bow.

A voice called out from deeper in the estate. “More!” They followed the voice, finding a woman in finery hollering at a massive wine barrel. “More, you lazy son of a bitch! What’s taking so long?”

“Flora?” Sebastian said. “Are…are you all right?”

“Why does no one in this house care what I want?” Flora demanded. “More wine! Or I swear, I will drown you in the dregs!”

“She doesn’t even see us,” Sebastian breathed. “This is no normal wine.”

“I don’t think we can do anything for her right now,” Hawke said. “We’d best move on. There has to be a cause to this.”

Another member of the Harimann family was in the next room, pacing agitatedly in front of a burning woodpile and an elven servant holding a dagger to the throat of another elven servant. “More logs! It must be molten! You! More coins! I want every scrap of gold in this house!”

“Please, messere,” the hostage begged.

“There’s nothing to fear,” the man said. “You’ll be beautiful. Pour it over her!”

“Brett, don’t!” Sebastian cried. “You’ll kill her!”

“No shit, I think that’s the plan,” Hawke muttered.

“He can’t hear me,” Sebastian realized. The elf with the dagger did, however, and approached Sebastian only to be knocked cold with a single blow.

The hostage ran for it, and Brett rubbed his chin. “Perhaps _I _should be the one…”

“We must end this madness,” Sebastian declared.

“Hawke,” Varric called from a nearby table. “Over here. That girl – Flora – it’s a page from her diary.” He brought the page closer to the firelight to read it aloud. “Mother finally began her expansion to the estate today. She brought in two dozen men from the Imperium who I’m sure were slaves, and they’ve been excavating the hillside behind the house. The dirt is awful. And the noise! Must they shatter every rock in Kirkwall? It’s been quiet since lunch, though, and Mother is behaving very strangely. She’s now talking about stopping the expansion – just like that, with no explanation. She never tells me anything.”

“She found something,” Hawke concluded. “Something buried.”

“I visited this house often as a child,” Sebastian said. “They could not have concealed such goings-on.”

“I don’t think they had to,” Anders said. “I’d bet that this is recent.”

They trooped into the next room and the situation took an interesting turn. “Lower, _lower_,” a nude man urged to the elf kneeling between his legs.

“I beg your pardon, Hawke,” Sebastian said sheepishly. “I did not mean to expose you to such things.”

“No apologies necessary,” Isabela said, leaning to get a better look.

“What are they even doing?” Merrill asked. “Mythal’enaste!”

“No, the feather! Use the feather!” The elf stood, and the man threw his arms up joyously. “Where have you been all my life? Today, I am more than a man! Come, felicitate me!”

“That’s a great line,” Isabela remarked. “I should use that!” She thought for a moment. “I could get it embroidered on my blouse!”

“He has no idea we’re here,” Sebastian said, rather unnecessarily. “I’ve known Ruxton Harimann my whole life. He’s a complete prude!”

“That’s my kind of prude,” Isabela replied.

“Mid-life crisis?” Varric offered.

“Where’s your brother?” Ruxton asked the elf. “Let’s ask him to join us.”

“This is weird, even for what I see on a normal day,” Hawke sighed. “Come on. Let’s leave the lovebirds alone.”

“You know what they say about a man with big hands,” Ruxton was saying as they left.

“Just Tuesday night at the Harimann estate,” Varric said as they pushed deeper into the building. “Are things this fun at your place, Hawke?”

“No feathers, but plenty of ropes,” Hawke replied, bringing a grin to Isabela’s face.

Brett, Ruxton, and Flora were waiting for them in the basement, a tunnel entrance in the wall behind them. “Turn back,” Flora said. “There is nothing here for you.”

“We just want to know what’s happening,” Hawke said.

“You shall not enter,” Flora declared, before her eyes rolled up inside her head and she collapsed. Ruxton and Brett followed suit.

“Well that was anticlimactic,” Hawke muttered.

“That was me,” Anders said. “Sleep spell. They’ll be out for a bit.”

“I was unaware you were a mage,” Sebastian said. “Are you – _sweet Andraste!_” He ducked as a shade swiped at him, snapping his bow up and putting an arrow through its eye.

The group found themselves set upon by a pack of shades and a single Desire demon, and Hawke grimaced as she set the demon on fire, Sebastian’s face darkening as he saw the fireball leave her staff. When the last one fell, he kept his bow drawn. “I…did not know you were a mage as well, Hawke.”

“You going to run off and tell the Templars?” Anders asked.

“That would be ungracious of me,” Sebastian replied slowly. “You have done me a service, I would not…”

“Can we focus?” Hawke said. “There’s demons about. We can fight each other later.”

“Agreed,” Sebastian replied. “We must see what greater evil they were protecting.” The tunnel led to a rough-hewn tunnel, presumably made by the excavators Lady Harimann had hired. The walls quickly changed to worked stone, and Sebastian frowned. “A ruin? So close to Hightown? I remember no such thing.”

More shades and demons blocked their path, attempting an ambush, but with the numbers roughly equal and three mages on their side the demons were quickly destroyed. “What do you make of these ruins?” Hawke asked Anders.

Anders snorted. “Architecture was never my strong suit. Most mages slept through those classes.”

“Tevinter,” Fenris supplied.

“You recognize them?”

Fenris gave her a curious look. “Kirkwall is a Tevinter city. It stands to reason that ruins such as these beneath a Tevinter city would be of Tevinter make, doesn’t it?”

Hawke paused, before blushing. “I suppose.”

Animated corpses occasionally ripped through the soil beneath their feet, and Hawke casually batted one’s head off with her staff, smirking as Varric pinioned another to the wall. When the last corpse was properly re-dead, Sebastian lowered his bow. “I cannot imagine what Lady Harimann would have been-” He broke off as he went sailing through the air, Hawke reacting first and freezing solid the revenant that had pulled him. Sebastian landed in a heap, crying out as his shoulder dislocated, and Isabela darted forward, her knives sliding into chinks in the revenant’s armor.

“Isabela, get Sebastian clear!” Hawke shouted, hitting the revenant with a bolt of lightning. Merrill and Anders followed suit as the rogue dragged Sebastian out of the revenant’s reach. The possessed corpse broke free of the ice and stomped on Sebatian’s discarded bow, the wood snapping under its boot as it brought its greatsword down one-handed in a crushing blow that Fenris easily dodged.

“Keep hitting it!” Varric urged, one of his crossbow bolts ricocheting off the revenant’s targe shield. He racked Bianca and fired again, pinning the revenant’s boot to the ground as Fenris batted the revenant’s greatsword aside and relieved it of its sword arm. Hawke charged up a spirit bolt and blew the revenant’s head off, the corpse collapsing backwards with a crash.

Hawke spun her staff, letting the excess energy bleed off. “Izzy, how’s Sebastian?”

“His arm’s broken,” the pirate called. “Anders?”

“On the way.” He knelt next to Sebastian, examining the arm. “You got lucky. Hawke saved your life there.”

Sebastian grimaced. “I know. That sword came within inches of my head.”

“This is broken and dislocated,” Anders said. “I’m going to set the arm, then heal the bone. It’s going to hurt.” Sebastian nodded. “On three. One-” He pulled the arm, and the bone moved with a grinding crunch as Sebastian gasped in pain. “Three.” He ran a hand down the length of the archer’s arm. “Good. First try.” His hands flared blue, and Sebastian breathed easier as the bone healed. “That’s the hard part done. Make a fist?” Bending the arm at the elbow, Anders worked it back and forth until the joint moved back into place, his magic flaring again as he healed the over-extended tendons. “All right. Come on, give it a try.”

Sebastian flexed the arm experimentally. “Marvelous. Thank you, Anders.” Anders nodded, offering him a hand and pulling him to his feet.

There was only one way deeper into the ruin, and Hawke spotted a Desire demon standing where the tunnel terminated, in front of a kneeling woman who could only be Lady Harimann. “Starkhaven will not submit,” the woman said. “I put that idiot Goran Vael into the prince’s seat, but the other families won’t heed him. I must marry him to Flora and solidify our hold. But I need more power.”

“I’ve given you much,” the demon purred. “Your desires run deep. You’ve already traded your husband and your children. What more can you offer?”

“What bargain have you made?” Hawke called. “Those are typically bad ideas, just letting you know.”

“Who is this?” Lady Harimann demanded. “Who are you? How did you get here?” Her eyes widened. “Sebastian…”

“You were my mother’s friend!” Sebastian spat. “How could you murder her?”

“Such an ugly word,” the demon said. “I prefer ‘removed the only obstacle between her and her dreams.’”

“This was _your _idea!” Sebastian accused.

The demon shrugged. “I could create such desires if I wished. But it’s far easier to nurture those that already exist. The desire for power is easy to find. You and your friend both possess it, do you not? You both wish to rise.”

“I’ll rise on my own merits, thank you,” Hawke said. “Not if it meant selling out my family.”

“How loyal were your friends to you?” The demon asked. “Everyone has a price. Everyone wants something.”

“Do not listen to her!” Sebastian urged.

“Oh, such a pious soul, masking so much ambition,” the demon cooed. “Are you so different from my lady? You yearn for the same lands, the same power…”

“I am the rightful heir,” Sebastian said defensively. “She is an usurper and a murderer.”

“You swore to put aside worldly goods and ambitions, but they couldn’t stop you from wanting them.”

“Regaining my birthright is hardly the same as stealing it from another,” Sebastian shot back.

“But you want it. You had resigned yourself to letting your brother rule. Yet now, that seat glitters before you. You’ve always wanted it. You needn’t deny it any longer. All you have to do is kill anyone in your way…”

Sebastian drew his backup dagger. “How about I kill you instead, fiend?”

“Sounds good to me,” Hawke said, moments before the room erupted in chaos as shades swarmed the group.

The next few minutes were a blur. Isabela, darting back and forth, her daggers flashing. Anders, blocking a shade’s slash and freezing it solid, before Merrill shattered it. Fenris’s greatsword sweeping through a pair of Rage demons. Sebastian, downing the Desire demon with a knife through the eye.

As quickly as it had started, it was over, Lady Harimann lying dead on the ground as the demons vanished back to the Fade. “Let us return to the chantry,” Sebastian said. “I must pray for Lady Harimann’s soul.”

As they backtracked through the estate, they ran into a newly awakened and recovered Flora. “Sebastian! I am so, so…'sorry' is such an inadequate word. When I think what Mother made us do…what those creatures made us do…”

“We were friends, Flora!” Sebastian said.

“It was like a cloud came down on me. All I could feel or think was what the demon allowed.”

“So your mother did order the attack on the Vael family?”

“She did,” Flora said, ashamed. “You…you know, Mother, Sebastian. She was always jealous of your parents. The demon twisted that until it was all she could think of. She was determined to seize Starkhaven for herself.”

“Was your mother a mage?” Hawke asked. “How did she find this demon?”

“We’ve never had magic in our line,” Flora said. “Perhaps that made Mother too confident. She thought she could deal with a demon and not fall prey to it. Those ruins there were unearthed when we expanded the house. Mother found the demon inside. I think she had signed her bargain before we even knew.”

“This was the demon’s fault,” Hawke said.

“I doubt many people will be so forgiving. If it takes every last coin my family owns, I will make reparations to everyone we’ve wronged. Starting with you, Sebastian. We weren’t the only ones vying for Starkhaven. If you face more opposition, you have my support.”

“It will not make up for what happened,” Sebastian said darkly.

“No, that’s true.”

“I’ll tell you when I need you,” Sebastian told her.

As they left the estate, Sebastian eyed Merrill. “Have you heard the Chant of Light?”

“That's the song they sing at the Chantry, right? It's pretty... but a little repetitive.”

“Then you know the story? How Andraste became the Maker's divine bride and convinced Him to offer us a second chance?”

“Right. But I never understood why she had to die.”

“Her mortal husband betrayed her out of jealousy.”

Merrill tilted her head. “But if He wanted her to spread her faith, couldn't she do that better alive?”

Sebastian nodded. “The Maker gave us free will. By his betrayal, Maferath showed us that men were not yet worth saving.”

Merrill shrugged as they mantled the steps to the Chantry. “I don't know. It's a nice story, but I think it's got some holes.”

“I had hoped prayer might cleanse me of the desire demon’s touch,” Sebastian said as they entered the building. “But I still hear her voice so clearly. I feel like I’ve bathed in filth that will never come off.”

“Wash behind the ears,” Hawke said dryly. “Evil usually gets stuck there.”

“The demon didn’t lie,” Sebastian admitted. “I used to be bitterly jealous of my brother. I wanted to be prince. Now, everything he had is mine. And he lies in ashes. I keep asking myself, ‘do I want this because it’s right, or simply to have what I never thought I could?’”

“Aren’t you your parents’ heir?”

“I’m the youngest of three,” Sebastian explained. “My parents were…rather traditional. They wanted the heir and the spare, and I was left in the cold. They put me in the Chantry to prevent my competing with my brothers.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. If he was discontented with the Chantry, perhaps there was hope for him after all. “You seem very dedicated to the Chantry. You were put there against your will?”

“At first. But it was the best thing that could have happened. I was a wild boy, a shame to my family. The Chantry made me a man. It’s odd. When I wanted to rule, I would have been terrible at it. Now that I might be decent, I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do.”

“It’s the wisdom not to want power that lets you use it wisely,” Hawke said.

Sebastian’s look grew haunted. “You didn’t feel what that demon stirred in me,” he replied. “It cannot be right to lead any army to Starkhaven with such doubt in my heart.”

“That’s what demons _do_,” Hawke sighed. “They spread doubt, and fear, and desire in their victims. That’s how they get you.”

Sebastian seemed less than reassured by her words. “I will think on this. I owe you more than I can say, Hawke. I will offer my service to you before I move on.”

“I appreciate that,” Hawke said. “I also appreciate your discretion.”

“That, you can count on,” Sebastian promised. “You have a good soul, Hawke. It was truly the Maker who led you to me.”

Hawke turned to leave, but paused. “Oh. Before I forget, I found something down in the Harimann estate.” She pulled a well-weathered longbow from her back, passing it over. “I think this belongs to you.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened. “My grandfather’s bow! But…how?”

“One of the Flint Company mercenaries had it.”

“Thank you,” Sebastian said sincerely. “It’s hard to mourn the loss of a thing while my family lies dead. But I did think of it.”

“Well, this bow never forced you into the Chantry,” Hawke offered.

Sebastian let it pass. “My grandfather said the bow is the wise man’s weapon. You can defend your city without opening its gates. He said the day I could pull the string on his bow, it would be mine.”

Anders sighed. “What is it with you archers and your grandfathers’ bows? Did none of you get along with your fathers?”

Sebastian looked over at Hawke. “What is he talking about?”

Anders paused. “I...nothing. Just...missing some old friends.”

“If it was promised to you, why didn’t you have it with you?”

“I was thirteen when he made me that promise,” Sebastian chuckled. “I would rise at dawn to practice my shots until I could hit the eye slit of a helmet from the top of the ramparts. But…my parents pledged me to the Chantry before I could show him.”

“Well, you can’t shoot your family at a charging bandit and stop him dead between the eyes,” Hawke offered.

Sebastian laughed. “Do you hold nothing sacred, Hawke?”

“Personal loyalty,” Hawke replied. “But besides that, no.”

“Fair enough,” Sebastian said. “Still, I’ll stop dwelling on what can’t be fixed and appreciate this gift you’ve found for me. I look forward to testing it.”

—ROTC—

“There’s that Ser Roderick,” Isabela said, jerking his head at the dozy Templar in the corner. “You do your thing. I’ll get the first round.”

“Uh, who are you?” Roderick asked as Hawke approached.

“I’m here to report Ser Conrad,” Hawke replied.

“I know him. Did he do something?” The Templar focused bleary eyes on her. “Or something?”

“Ser Conrad caught some apostates,” Hawke said. “They offered him coin to let them go, and he took it.”

The man leaned forward in shock, so far Hawke thought he might tip over. “Ser Conrad? Are you sure?”

“I’m afraid so,” Hawke said somberly.

“This needs to be reported,” Roderick said immediately. “I can’t believe it!”

“Well, that’s one Templar slandered,” Varric said as Roderick stumbled out of the pub, talking to himself.

They rejoined the others, sitting around a table in the back of the pub with their drinks. Merrill was rolling a ball of yarn with help from Isabela. Three men sitting at a nearby table were openly ogling the rogue. Hawke grinned a greeting at her, giving a tiny head tilt to indicate the oglers. Isabela shrugged, rolling her eyes as she wound the yarn around the ball for Merrill.

“You have got to hear this, Hawke,” Varric said. “There’s this tale making the rounds. They’re saying you single-handedly fought off a pirate invasion, at midnight, on the sacred ground of the Chantry.”

“She had help,” Isabela protested.

“Don’t these stories mention my stunning good looks?” Hawke quipped. “What about my cunning wit?”

“Nope, they skip straight to the part about the loveable dwarf with the gorgeous crossbow and the heart of gold. I try to steer them straight, but you know how stories go. Just…don’t be surprised if people seem in awe.”

Hawke shook her head. “Varric, why do you do this? What compels you to spin these ridiculous tales?”

“I love the sound of my own voice,” Varric offered. “And I’m a compulsive liar.” He shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. It’s just something I do. There’s power in stories, though. That’s all history is: the best tales. The ones that last. Might as well be mine.”

“And you get free drinks as long as you keep talking,” Hawke said.

“The stories are their own reward,” Varric insisted. “You really need to see the look on someone’s face when I tell them you ripped the arms off an ogre. Just once.”

Hawke’s smile dimmed. “There’s a few stories that shouldn’t be told, Varric.”

“I don’t tell that one, Hawke,” Varric said. “I promise.”

“So how many taverns have heard the story about the pirate invasion?” Hawke asked.

“I only frequent the nice ones,” Varric said. “Where it goes afterward is anybody’s guess. You’re beautiful, deadly, and hang out with fantastic dwarves. It would be a crime if people didn’t talk about you. Consider it a Santinalia present.”

“So long as it's better than last year's Santinalia,” Hawke said with a laugh. “You should see what Isabela got me.”

“I _did_ see it,” Anders said. “I think everyone saw it. A toy that size is hard to hide, you know.”

“Speaking from experience, Blondie?” Varric asked.

Anders looked over at him for a moment, before deadpanning, “Why do you think I have these baggy robes?”

There were a few moments of genuine laughter around the table before Hawke went on. “Actually, about that? I originally said it was too big to use, but yesterday I learned an important lesson about determination and believing in yourself.” Varric spat half of his drink across Anders's front, Isabela roared with laughter, and Merrill had a confused look on her face until the pirate whispered in her ear, at which point she flushed bright red.

“You have got to love knitting needles,” Merrill said, holding her pair aloft. “I can make a scarf. I can make a hat. I can stab someone’s eyes out. I can make mittens!”

Varric looked at her warily. “What was that middle part?”

Merrill put on her best innocent face. “I can make a hat.”

“You already made me a hat,” Hawke said. “Is this one for Varric?” Nobody mentioned that Hawke had worn the hat for six weeks straight after Merrill had given it to her.

“No, it’s for Arianni,” Merrill said. “I got all of you hats or scarves already, right?”

Varric fingered the scarf he wore around his waist as a sash. “I keep mine close, Daisy.”

“Lovely. My patterns never work quite right, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“Of course.” As he turned to Isabela, Varric took a pull on his drink, wiping froth from his mouth. “So how is it with Hawke?”

“It's… fine.”

“It's more than fine,” Varric argued. “I know you, Rivaini. You play like lightning, you don't strike twice. If things weren't fine, you wouldn't have kept coming back, what is it, three, maybe four times?”

“A few more than that,” Isabela admitted. “But it's not what you think. She's a friend. We go out drinking, like you know. Some nights, I'll meet someone. Some nights, I won't. It's the same for her. And on some of those nights when neither of us is going home with someone, we'll just… go home together.”

Varric seemed unconvinced. “I know for a fact that she doesn’t go home with anybody but you. And the fact that you're wearing a part of her bedsheet as an armband?”

The woman rolled her eyes. “You have pretty eyes, Varric.”

“Something I’ve been wondering. Considering you two have…whatever it is you have,” Varric asked, “why doesn’t Rivaini ever use your first name?”

“Oh, she does,” Hawke said with a grin.

“Just not when you’re around to hear it,” Isabela added. “Well, maybe you’ve heard it. When I do use her name it tends to be…loud.”

The dwarf chuckled. “Why did I ask? I knew you’d answer like that.”

“And that’s exactly why you asked,” Isabela said knowingly, giving the dwarf a wink.

Anders and Fenris had been glaring daggers at each other, quietly exchanging barbs as the others spoke.

“So you're telling me you would rather the mages ruled over all others again?” Fenris asked.

Anders rolled his eyes. “That _wasn't_ what I was telling you but all right, let's talk about this entirely new topic. I wouldn’t rather the mages ruled over all others. Reversing the inequality wouldn’t solve the issue. And mages can be enslaved in Tevinter too – you’ve said as much yourself. The powerful will always abuse the less powerful with whatever tools they have on hand. The problem is not magic, the problem is power itself. Orlais isn’t a mage-ruled country, but its nonmage nobility still abuses everyone below it. It’s still rife with literal slavery and indentured servitude, not to mention how the elves live at all. Ferelden is just as bad in places – the Hero of Ferelden told me once that he killed a noble who used his position to abuse the elves! But apparently his abuse of power doesn’t matter to the Templars because he couldn’t fart a fireball. I fight for mage freedom, but I don’t want magic to be used for exploitation of the lower classes like it is in Tevinter.” Anders’s face softened. “I know that everything you’ve suffered has been at the hands of magic. But I’m not going to apologize for the actions of people who thought they were better than everyone else.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Fenris said quietly.

“Are you two…speaking civilly?” Hawke asked.

“We can, on occasion,” Fenris replied. “Why does it matter?”

“My father told me something a long time ago. ‘If they stand behind you, give them protection. If they stand beside you, give them respect. If they stand in front of you, watch their back. And if they stand against you, show them no mercy.’ You two may not agree on much of anything, but you’ve always had each other’s back. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you two might even be able to like each other.”

“Well that’s just your opinion,” Anders sniffed.

“Opinions are like arseholes,” Hawke said. “But I’m not here to eat opinions.” Isabela snorted into her drink.

“Have I ever mentioned I like your coat?” Merrill asked Anders.

Anders looked surprised. “You do?”

Merrill nodded. “It's very lively! Like a crow in the middle of anting!”

“That's...that's great. Thanks, Merrill.”

“I wouldn't have called it ‘lively,’” Isabela said. “Bedraggled, maybe. Or just...fluffy.”

"What? This?" The mage picked at his coat. "This happens to have been a very nice coat at one time! It's not as if there's washerwomen in the Deep Roads. Stains happen."

"So, let's double-check," Hawke said. "You've slept with Isabela back in Ferelden." Anders nodded silently. "And you said you slept with Isabela early on."

"Yes," Fenris said quietly.

"And I've slept with Isabela. So, the only ones who she hasn't wound up in bed with are Merrill and Sebastian?"

"What about me and Aveline?" Varric asked.

"You two are spoken for, you don't count," Hawke replied, waving him off. “Aveline has Donnic and you have Bianca.”

"As a matter of fact," Isabela said sheepishly. "I did wind up in bed with Sebastian."

Silence ruled the table for a long moment, until Varric finally broke it. "_What_."

"I wound up in his bed. He was asleep. I was drunk. We didn't do anything, but we were in bed together!"

“Come on, let’s play cards,” Varric said. “Hawke, you’ve got the next round.”

—ROTC—

Hawke groaned as she rested her head on the table. “Why did you keep pouring more whiskey into my cup last night?”

“Because you kept drinking it,” Isabela replied lightly. “Why didn’t you stop?”

“My mother raised me not to waste food,” Hawke replied, her head still on the table.

“Whiskey isn’t food,” Varric pointed out.

“Clearly you’ve never been at sea very long,” Isabela sniffed.

“Relax, Hawke, we’ve got something that’ll fix you right up,” Varric went on, taking the kettle off the fire. “How do you take your tea?”

“Like I take my women,” Hawke mumbled.

Varric looked at Isabela briefly. “Strong, dark, and hot enough to burn you?”

“Precisely,” Hawke said. "What do we do about him?"

Varric glanced at the unconscious lump on the floor. "Give him a little longer. If he doesn't wake up by the time you finish your tea we'll...well, we can't send for Anders."

"Anders is the last thing Anders needs right now," Isabela agreed.

As if on cue, Anders groaned and clutched his head, still face down on the floor. Azure light flickered around his hands. “Usually Justice stops me drinking.”

"Anders, what are you doing?" Varric asked.

"My best," the mage groaned. "I haven't felt this awful since…" He cleared his throat. "In a long time."

Hawke glanced out the window. “It’s afternoon. I’d better get home. Mother’s probably worried.”

—ROTC—

What she found at home didn’t put her at ease. “Enchantment!” Sandal crowed.

“No, Leandra,” Gamlen said stridently. “Lee. Ann. Drah!”

“What’s wrong, Uncle?”

Gamlen scowled. “There you are! Where’s your mother? Is she feeling all right?”

“I’m sure she’s all right,” Hawke said soothingly. “Why are you so upset?”

“Your mother didn’t show up for our weekly visit,” Gamlen said. “Is she ill? She is here, isn’t she?”

Bodahn entered the room, wiping his hands on a rag. “No, Gamlen. We haven’t seen her all day.”

“Where could she be?”

“With her suitor, perhaps?” Bodahn offered.

“Suitor?” Gamlen echoed. “Leandra never mentioned a suitor.”

“To me either,” Hawke said.

“Well, those lilies arrived for her this morning.” A vase of white lilies was sitting on the side table.

Through the pounding headache, Hawke felt a spark of recognition. “White lilies. I know something about that.”

“Don’t just leave me waiting,” Gamlen urged. “What is it?”

A yawning void opened in Hawke’s gut. “There’s a killer in Kirkwall who sends his victims white lilies before he takes them,” Hawke explained. “He’s murdered several women already.”

“No,” Gamlen said. “No, you’re wrong. Leandra is fine.”

“It doesn’t hurt to be optimistic, but we had better find her and _fast_,” Hawke said. “Hopper!”

“Maybe…maybe Leandra took another path to my house,” Gamlen said as the dog came bounding down the stairs from Hawke’s bedroom. “I could have just missed her. I’m going back to Lowtown.”

“You might be able to track her more easily once night falls and the streets empty out,” Bodahn offered.

“I’m not going to wait that long,” Hawke said.

“All right. The boy and I will stay here in case she returns.”

—ROTC—

“Hopper, you got anything?” The dog snuffled, and Hawke sighed. “Keep trying, boy. We’ve got to find her.”

They got as far as the stairs to Lowtown, and then the increased foot traffic blotted out Leandra’s scent. Hawke had alerted Varric and Isabela at the Hanged Man, and the pirate had gone to get the rest of the crew while Varric hit up his contacts. The sun was setting already, and Hawke found Gamlen talking to a street urchin. “Wait, wait, you say you saw Leandra?”

“I did,” the boy said. “What of it?”

“Blue dress, grey hair, her cloak was brown, I think,” Gamlen rattled off. “She holds it closed with a round brooch, silver with…with garnets.”

“I told you already, I saw her,” the urchin said.

“Did you see where she went?”

“What do I get for telling you?” the urchin asked slyly.

Hawke fished around in her coin pouch. “Here’s a few silver. Buy yourself some food.” She looked down at the rags the boy had wrapped around his feet. “And new shoes.”

The boy gasped. “That’s real silver, that is! I’m your man, through and through. Tell you everything I know!”

“Start talking,” Hawke urged.

“That lady was here. She looked like she was going to take the bridge to Hightown. But then a man came up to her. He stumbled and fell over, right at her feet, like he was dead. His hands were all bloody, like he’d been in a fight. The lady shook him, and I think he said ‘help.’ She got him to his feet, and he was wobbly – it was funny. Anyway, they left, and…that’s all I saw.”

“It’s not too late,” Hawke said, handing over the coin. “Hopper, can you smell blood?”

“Why would anyone take her?” Gamlen asked. “It doesn’t make sense!”

“When I find this killer, I’ll ask him,” Hawke said, clenching her fists. “In between beating him to death.”

“I’m going to go home in case Leandra shows up,” Gamlen said.

“Hopper, let’s go.”

“Hawke!” She turned, seeing Isabela approaching with Fenris, Anders, and Merrill. “Aveline’s getting the word out.”

“Good. Hopper!” The dog barked from nearby, and Hawke followed. “More blood. We’re on the right path. I just hope it’s not Mother’s…”

The trail led them through Lowtown, past the Hanged Man, and into the foundry district. “The foundry?” Hawke asked. “They must have gone inside!”

“Weren’t we here the last time we were chasing a missing woman?” Varric asked.

“I wonder if we’ll find more than just a sack of bones this time,” Anders said.

Hawke looked over, her mouth open in shock. “Anders!” Isabela cried.

The mage paled. “Sorry, Hawke.”

“Mother must be here somewhere,” Hawke said. “We need to look around.”

They followed the blood trail up the stairs and into the back of the foundry, where there was a trapdoor in the floor not quite closed. “Looks like someone forgot to conceal the trapdoor,” Varric said.

“This wasn’t here before,” Hawke murmured. “Didn’t Aveline’s men search this place properly? Mother must be down there, with him.” She turned to her dog. “Hopper, make sure nobody leaves. Nobody gets past us, got it?” The dog set his paws, and Hawke led the way down the ladder.

They were greeted by shades and a Rage demon, and Hawke bulled forward with Fenris and Isabela, blasting the demon with frost magic as the shades fell to the others.

“Hawke,” Varric called as they regrouped. “Over here.” He was standing over a human corpse, his face grim. “It’s Alessa.”

They pushed deeper into the lair, and Hawke recoiled as a stench hit her. “Maker’s breath, that smell…”

Anders shook his head. "I recognize that stench – I've smelled it before. Reagents used to preserve flesh.” He sniffed again. “I think there's drakestone, too."

Hawke spotted a glint in the dim light and knelt. “I know this locket. It belongs to Mother.” She looked up, lighting sprites to push back the darkness. “Did he…live here?”

There were bookshelves scattered around the room, along with a single desk and a chair in the middle of the room. A wardrobe stood against one support pillar, but what caught Hawke’s attention was at the other side of the room. She was crossing to examine the object of her curiosity when more shades erupted through the ground, the spirits almost immediately destroyed by Hawke’s party.

“What _is _this?” Hawke asked, continuing across the room.

It appeared to be some sort of shrine. On top of the shrine, next to a vase of white lilies, was a painting of a woman. “The woman in the painting…she almost looks like Mother.”

“A shrine dedicated to a wife?” Anders suggested, examining one of the bookshelves. “A sister?” He frowned, skimming the titles. “This is quite a collection of books. Blood magic, necromancy…where did he get all these?”

“Why would he have these?” Hawke asked. “What’s he planning? I need to find her. Now.”

They found the killer around the next corner, speaking quietly to a woman in a white dress who was sitting in a chair with the back to them. He looked up as Hawke approached. “I was wondering when you’d show up. Leandra was so sure you’d come for her.”

“Where is she?” Hawke demanded.

“You will never understand my purpose,” the killer spat. “Your mother was chosen because she was special, and now she is part of something…greater.”

“You’re crazy, I get it,” Hawke spat. “_Where’s my mother?_”

The killer smirked, glancing over his shoulder at the woman in the chair. “I have done the impossible. I have touched the face of the Maker and lived.” Hawke shook her head, her patience running thing. “Do you know what the strongest force in the universe is?” He turned his back on them, walking back to the woman in the chair. “Love. I pieced her together from memory. I found her eyes, her skin, her delicate fingers…” He reached out, touching the woman’s face, and Hawke felt a spike of revulsion. “And at last, her face…oh, this beautiful face.” He lifted his hand, and the woman stood shakily. “I’ve searched far and wide to find you again, beloved, and no force in this world will part us.”

The woman turned, and Hawke’s jaw dropped. The world seemed to stand still.

“Hawke!”

It was her mother. Or at least part of her. It was Leandra’s face and head, to be sure, but the ragged red line across her neck where the head had been crudely stitched to the body of someone else told the truth of what had happened to her. More stitch marks across the body were visible past the hems and edges of the dress.

“Hawke!”

The killer was speaking literally when he said he pieced her together, Hawke realized. The man was doing something off to the side, but Hawke was only vaguely aware of it as she stared into her mother’s face, the mouth gaping open, the eyes unfocused, the skin pale and gray.

“_Hawke_!”

Someone was shouting her name. It was Varric, Hawke realized dully. The dwarf was fending off an animated corpse, more of the shamblers and shades assaulting the rest of her companions. Hawke’s staff lay on the floor in front of her, having slipped from nerveless fingers a moment before, and Hawke took a step forward, leaving the weapon behind.

The killer raised his staff, and Hawke numbly raised a hand, yanking the staff out of his hands with a pulse of force magic. She threw it aside, and the killer’s eyes widened as Hawke tackled him to the ground.

Most people thought that Hawke, being a mage, would be unable to hold up well in a hand-to-hand fight.

Most people were wrong.

Hawke was capable enough with a blade, thanks to her father’s training, and more than capable of using magic in a close-in fight, as many now-dead opponents had found.

But even unarmed, Hawke was still dangerous. Every wrestling match with her brother, every sparring match with her father, every back-alley brawl, every barfight, every training session spent with Fenris or Aveline, it all came back as Hawke brutally beat the mage’s face into pulp. She kept pounding until Fenris pulled her off the corpse, blood dripping from her fists. “He’s dead,” the elf said unnecessarily.

Hawke turned, catching sight of her mother falling to her knees. “Mother!” Leandra fell into her arms, and Hawke knelt. “Anders!”

“There’s nothing I can do,” Anders said softly. “His magic was keeping her alive.”

“I knew you would come,” Leandra rasped.

“I tried to find you,” Hawke said. “I…I wasn’t fast enough.”

“Don’t fret, darling,” Leandra said. “That man would have kept me trapped in here. But now…I’m free. I get to see Bethany again…and your father. But you’ll be here alone.”

Hawke shook her head angrily. “I should have watched over you more closely, I should have…”

Leandra smiled. “My little girl has become so strong,” she said. “I love you. You’ve always made me so proud.” Her eyes closed, and the body went limp in Hawke’s arms.

—ROTC—

_Viscount Marlowe Dumar  
What happened to Viscount Perrin Threnhold was a travesty. I served in the Keep, and my blood boils when I hear people call him a tyrant. He was a good man who tried his best to free Kirkwall from the control of those who use power for their own purposes. It's always been that way here, hasn't it? Long ago it was the Imperium. Then it was the Qunari, then the Orlesians, now the Templars... when have we ever ruled ourselves? He tried to kick those Templar bastards out and give us real freedom, and what did it get him?_

_Now the Chantry has chosen Lord Marlowe Dumar as his replacement. After weeks and weeks of arguing, after telling the nobility that they would be choosing their viscount, after everyone saying it was time to use a new title—why not “king”? Why keep using the name imposed by the Orlesians? And after all that, the Chantry chose him. I suppose I can see why—everyone thinks he has the spine of a jellyfish, and it does seem that way._

_Truly, he has the Templars on one side, the nobility on the other, and everyone expects him to solve all their problems—yet he has no power to actually accomplish it. He keeps the peace as best he can, and I think he does a good job even if no one else does. And he loves that sad little boy. I see the way young Saemus looks at his father, and I feel for him. Locked up in the Keep with no other children, watching his father be put down by every self-important windbag that walks into the great hall... it makes me miss the days of Perrin Threnhold, even if they were chaotic. We can only hope that one day Saemus gives this city the legacy it deserves._

_—Excerpt from a letter by an unknown servant, found in the Gallows vaults 9:28 Dragon_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.


	17. Everything Goes to Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit rockets fanwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Varric - After the Deep Roads  
“Bianca sends her regards.”_

_Bartrand vanished after the Deep Roads expedition, and Varric had to divert his attention from searching for his wayward brother to keeping the now-abandoned family businesses from falling apart._

_Varric now occupies his brother's seat in the Dwarven Merchants Guild—technically. He rarely attends Guild meetings and is hardly ever seen actually occupying the chair in their hall that belongs to House Tethras. He prefers to run the Tethras financial empire from his suite at the Hanged Man. And he never replies to his mail._

—ROTC—

“Get her out of here,” Varric said softly to Isabela. “I’ll…take care of things here.”

Isabela nodded wordlessly, wrapping an arm around Hawke’s shoulders and guiding her out of the room.

Aveline was approaching the foundry with a contingent of her guards when the door flew open and Hawke came stumbling out, Isabela guiding her. Aveline stopped short, her guards coming to a stop behind her, and Isabela’s eyes met Aveline’s. Surprise and anger flashed across the pirate’s face, before she marshalled herself to a neutral expression and focused on Hawke. “Come on.”

Hawke suddenly shouldered free of Isabela, pacing around the courtyard and breathing heavily, either not acknowledging Aveline or not seeing her to begin with. Finally, she stopped, clenched her fists in front of her face, and let out a wordless scream at the sky, anger and pain thick in her voice. And then she bowed her head, and stood there under the grey sky. It had threatened rain the past two days, but only then it came.

The rain plinked softly on the guardsmen’s armor, but Isabela and Hawke were quickly drenched to the skin, standing in the courtyard and looking at each other if they were the only two people in Kirkwall.

—ROTC—

“Did you find her?” Gamlen asked.

“I’m sorry, Uncle,” Hawke said, staring into the fire. A bottle of whiskey sat at her feet, half empty already. In the fire was a bouquet of white lilies, the petals already blackened and shriveled from the flames. “She’s gone. You were right about the flowers and everything.”

“I…I can’t believe she’s gone.”

“I was too late,” Hawke said, putting her face in her hands.

“So _you’re_ to blame!” Gamlen snapped. “If you’d been quicker or stronger, you could’ve…she could be…” His shoulders slumped, and he shook his head. “Why her? Why Leandra?”

Hawke took another drink. “The killer used Mother to magically reconstruct his dead wife. She was killed because she looked like someone. They had the same face.”

“What sort of nightmarish magic is that?” Gamlen breathed. “Oh, Maker…maybe the Templars are right. Lock the mages up, throw away the key!”

Hawke was too numb to be as angry as she could have been. “Do you want them to lock me up too, Uncle?”

“I…I don’t know,” Gamlen sighed. “You would’ve been better off if you were just normal, like Carver. Magic’s always run in this family. It’s a curse. Now even your mother’s fallen victim to it.” He turned away. “I wish you’d never told me what that twisted son of a bitch did to her. I wish I hadn’t asked. I hope you killed him.”

Hawke glanced down at the dried blood on her knuckles. With everything that had happened, she hadn’t had time to wash her hands. “With my bare hands.”

“Good. I hope it hurt. Carver needs to be told. I’ll send a message to the Grey Wardens and hope it reaches it him.”

—ROTC—

Hawke's knuckles were bleeding. But then, she'd been punching the leather face of the badly-damaged training dummy for half an hour, her staff discarded carelessly to the side after bursts of magic failed to fill the hole in her gut.

“Hawke?” The mage blinked at the voice. She had expected Varric, or Isabela, or even Sebastian to come by.

But _Fenris_ was the one who showed up first?

“In here,” Hawke called, not letting up on her assault. “Come to gloat about being right about mages?”

“No.”

After a few moments of silence, filled only with the sound of flesh striking leather, Hawke finally turned and glared at the elf. “Don't make me keep guessing. I'm not in the mood.”

“Varric asked me to come by,” the elf said simply.

That threw Hawke for a loop. Her next strike landed with only half the impact. “He did?”

“I do not know how you feel,” Fenris replied slowly. “I have no memories of my family, no sense of loss when I was torn away from them.” He paused. “In some ways that is a comfort. I did not know Leandra well, but to have something so precious, and then lose it...”

Hawke's fists drooped. “It's not just her,” she whispered. “I couldn't save any of them. Bethany's dead, my mother is dead, I'll probably never see Carver again...my father is dead.” She swallowed hard, blinking away tears. “You know what I believe?”

“That you should have been better?” Fenris asked.

Hawke nodded. “And more besides. I believe that if my father hadn't died a few years before the Blight, he would have been able to get us all away from Lothering alive. We could have come here, or anywhere else, and we all would have been fine. Bethany would still be alive. He could have done it, _so why couldn't I?_” The last part came out as an anguished cry, and Hawke cut loose with a crushing punch that knocked the dummy off its stand. “I have lost _everything_! How much more can this blasted life take from me? What do I have left?”

There was a long pause. “Well, you still have me.”

“Cute,” Hawke deadpanned, flexing her bleeding hands. “I appreciate the attempt at humor. But...” She looked down at the blood trickling from her fingers, before healing the injuries with a thought and a flare of azure magic. She held up her hands, looking Fenris in the eyes for the first time since he had arrived. “If I am so skilled, why is it my entire family is dead or gone?”

Fenris shifted his weight slightly, standing up straighter. “You ask _me_ why loss persists in spite of our best attempts and all of our abilities?”

“I suppose you wouldn't know, at that. I just...”

“You want them back.”

Hawke sat down hard, clenching her fists. “If I could trade myself for them...” She pressed her knuckles into her eyes, a gasping sob escaping her throat. Then the dam broke, and the tears started to flow. “I don't know what to do with myself, Fenris. I don't know how to go on.”

After a few moments, she felt the wiry strength of his arms around her. “I am sorry, Dana.” He held her until she had cried herself out, and then gently picked her up, carrying her upstairs to her bedroom.

—ROTC—

Varric found her alone in her room, curled up under a blanket. “Hawke, it’s…it’s been days.”

“I know,” Hawke said softly. “You’ve been here every day.” He sat down on the bed next to her, and Hawke rolled over, facing away from him.

“Have you eaten?”

“A little.”

“Hawke…”

“Varric, this…” There was a sniffle, and Hawke swallowed back the tears. “This can’t be the right story. This is all wrong. Tell me a different story.”

“I can do that.”

—ROTC—

The next day, Isabela was there. “I…uh, I feel I should say…something.”

“I know you’re not good at…emotional stuff,” Hawke said.

“At least your mother loved you,” Isabela offered. “Not everyone can say that.”

“So this is what it’s like to be an orphan,” Hawke murmured.

“Family’s not just the people you’re related to by blood,” Isabela pointed out. “There are other people who care about you.” Hawke rested her head on Isabela’s shoulder, and the pirate put a comforting arm around Hawke. “And you stopped that sadistic son of a bitch. I think no matter what, she’d be proud of you.”

“I don’t want to cry any more than I already have,” Hawke said.

“Hey, I’m a captain, remember?” Isabela pulled her closer. “Pour out the ocean, I can handle it.” She held Hawke as the mage sobbed.

—ROTC—

“I know nothing I say will change what happened,” Anders said. “I’m a healer of the body, not the spirit. I’m just…I’m sorry.”

“You ever think that maybe the Templars are right?” Hawke asked. “A mage did this to her. Maybe…maybe we are a danger?”

“He was a madman,” Anders insisted. “That’s what made him do this, not magic. I don’t advocate the use of blood magic, but even _that _wasn’t what caused this.”

“I appreciate the thought, Anders,” Hawke said. “But I’d rather be alone.”

“You don’t turn your back on friends,” Anders replied. “And I don’t have many of those, so I tend to treasure the ones I’ve got. You were lucky to have her as long as you did. When the pain fades, that’s what will matter.”

“Thanks,” Hawke muttered. “I just…I could have saved her if I’d been faster.”

Anders hung his head. “Something I think every time I think about Karl.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you,” Hawke said quietly. “Do you want…do you want to stay here a while?”

“Sure.”

—ROTC—

“Hawke, you’ve been in here long enough,” Merrill said firmly. “You’re not going to spend the rest of your life in here. You’re always telling me to get out and get some fresh air.”

“Not today, Merrill,” Hawke sighed.

“Yes, today,” Merrill said. “You never gave up on me, even when I thought I was crazy. And none of us are giving up on you. You don’t get to give up on yourself, Dana.”

Hawke rubbed her eyes. “Merrill, I…”

“No. Get up. Now.” There was steel in the elf’s voice, and Hawke found herself climbing out of the bed, standing near the fire. “Go get cleaned up. There’re still things to do. Bodahn’s drawn a bath. Your equipment’s laid out. And if you’re not in that bath in two minutes, I’m throwing you in there myself.”

For the first time in days, Hawke smiled. “Thanks, Merrill. You know, the assertive you is quite attractive.” Merrill blushed. “Come on. Let’s get back to work.”

—ROTC—

Hawke squinted as the bright day’s sunlight hit her eyes. Varric, Isabela, and Fenris were waiting for her. “So we’ve got to go see Hubert in the market. Apparently, there’s been some cargo thefts coming out of the Bone Pit and he’s got a lead on why they’re going missing.”

“We’ve got your back, Hawke,” Varric said.

Hawke adjusted her staff across her back. “Thanks, everyone.”

They crossed Hightown quickly, finding Hubert in his usual stall in the market. “You got my letter,” the man said in greeting.

“You’ve been gone a while,” Hawke said. “I thought you had things under control.”

“I told you I would handle this, and I did!” Hubert insisted. “Now, after a year of raids on our shipments, I finally caught one of the culprits! One of our miners, Sabin, has been leaking information. Do you know him? He claims to be from your hometown in Ferelden. I would like you to get this festering sore to divulge who is behind the thefts.”

“He’s from Lothering?” Hawke asked. “Who is this man?”

“I would not expect you to recall every pisspot from your past,” Hubert said, waving a hand.

“I don’t remember Sabin. He must be from the outlying farms,” Hawke mused.

“Well, he brags to his fellows that he grew up with you in Lothering.”

Hawke shrugged. “Bring Sabin back to my place.”

It took less than an hour for Hubert to have the man dragged into Hawke’s estate. “Here is the dung pile I caught leaking next week’s shipment schedule. He won’t tell me who he is working with! Who else has been screwing me over?” He backhanded Sabin. “Tell me, you rutting mongrel!”

“I don’t think violence will be necessary,” Hawke said, pulling up a seat in front of Sabin.

“Please, messere, help me,” Sabin begged. “I knew you since you was young in Lothering. I knew your mum’s family – and your pop, Maker grant him rest.”

“Pathetic,” Hubert sneered, spitting on the man. “I leave this bastard in your capable hands. Get me when he is ready to talk.”

Hawke waved him off, turning back to Sabin as Hubert left. “Thank you, messere,” Sabin said. “Us Lothering folk should stick together.”

“What made you turn on us?” Hawke asked.

“Before the Blight, my family had a good life in Lothering: clean home, fertile land, friends. In Kirkwall we lived in a hovel. People spit on us. And some days we went hungry.”

“I know how hard it was to leave Lothering,” Hawke said gently. “Talk to me so we can put this all behind us. I can defend you, but you need to give me something here.”

“Soon as I tell Hubert what he wants to know, he’ll kill me or throw me in prison. My life’s not worth much, but my family…I only wanted to give my wife and son a better life.”

“I’ll make sure your family is taken care of,” Hawke promised.

“I’m humbled by that offer,” Sabin said softly. “Thank you. I hid some gold in the Bone Pit. I regret stealing from someone like you, so please take it back.”

Hawke had Hubert back in the room a few minutes later. Unfortunately, he wasn’t alone. “Hawke, this is Lilley of the Coterie. Given the importance of stopping the cargo robberies, I have enlisted a…consultant.”

“Consultant?” Lilley echoed. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Well, dog,” Hubert snarled, glaring down at Sabin. “Are you ready to bark now?”

“There’s an ambush planned tonight at Dietrich Crossing,” Sabin said quietly.

“Tonight? That leaves you barely enough time to intercept them. You had best leave immediately!”

“We’ll protect your precious shipment,” Lilley said dismissively. “Just make sure you have the Coterie’s payment.” She gestured at Sabin. “Want me to deal with this runt? Free of charge. I’ll drop him in a ditch on our way out.”

“Yes, take him with my blessing,” Hubert said hurriedly. “I assume my partner will not object.”

“I object rather strongly, actually,” Hawke replied coldly. “A public showing of mercy will be good for morale. Let him go.”

“But he is a Ferel – a criminal,” Hubert paused. “Nobody will care what happens to him.”

“Think about it,” Hawke pressed. “Sabin turned to crime for two reasons: he’s desperate, and he bears no love for you. Spare him publicly, and you’ll earn some loyalty from the miners.”

“I see your point,” Hubert admitted. “Very well, for the sake of…morale, I will spare this dog.”

“Oh, thank you messeres,” Sabin babbled. “I know I don’t deserve it, but thank you!”

“We’re wasting time,” Lilley said to Hawke. “If you find naught but corpses at the ambush, it won’t be my fault.”

—ROTC—

“We’re too late for your boys, but we’ll make the rotters pay,” Lilley said as they rounded the curve in the trail and found the crossing full of bandits. They had already carried off the goods from the convoy and were burning what was left.

Lilley may have been a Coterie thug, but she proved herself capable enough with the spiked mace she carried. When the last ambusher fell, she wiped her weapon clean and turned to Hawke. “That was almost too easy.” She glanced at one of the corpses whose cowl had come off, frowning. “Wait, I recognize that lout.”

“Friend of yours?” Hawke asked as Isabela and Anders looted the bodies. Fenris casually stabbed the corpse of one of the ambushers, stabbing him again when he squealed.

“Coworker,” Lilley said. “He’s in the Coterie. One of that damned fool Brekker’s men.”

“So _your _organization is behind this?” Hawke demanded.

“We got explicit orders not to,” Lilley said. “Hubert’s been good on his payments. If Brekker ordered this, the rest of his life will be very short and painful.”

“Clearly this Brekker has more balls than brains,” Hawke commented dryly.

“Got it in one,” Lilley agreed. “He operates out of the south side. His lackeys are loyal. Brekker must be involved.”

“Then he’ll pay for this,” Hawke said. “The next idiot will think twice before crossing me.”

“Understood. I know who to lean on to get answers,” Lilley replied. “Find me in the Undercity.”

—ROTC—

They caught up with her a few hours later. Unfortunately, Lilley was in no position to tell them anything, judging by the deep gash in her throat. Hawke knelt over her, searching her body for a note, any lead to where Brekker could be.

“Don’t let them get away!” a woman called as Hawke stood up, dusting her hands.

“You Coterie?” Hawke asked her. “One of Lilley’s ‘friends?’”

“Lilley was one of ours,” the woman spat. “She was working for you, and now she’s dead. You get one chance. Did you kill her?” Fenris reached for his sword, and Hawke held out a hand to stop him.

“Lilley didn’t die by my hand,” Hawke said. “Someone else did this.”

“_Explain yourself_.”

“This little misunderstanding aside, we seem to be on the same side here,” Hawke said, wishing she had brought Varric along. “Some scum has been attacking my caravans. One of them at least was working for one of yours, named Brekker. Lilley said she’d look into it.” She glanced down at the corpse. “Clearly, someone forcefully objected to her inquiry.”

“Brekker,” the woman repeated. “If you’re lying, I’ll find you.” She whistled to her men. “We have to get to the bottom of this, now.” The Coterie group departed without another word, and Hawke breathed a sigh of relief.

“I know where Brekker hides out,” Anders said. “I’ve healed some of his group before. They’re not all that smart…or good at dodging.”

The entrance to his hideout was nearby, and Isabela silently disarmed a pressure plate, nodding to Hawke when it was done.

A handful of thugs and a single apostate mage were up ahead, succumbing quickly to steel and lightning bolts. “Fewer than I’d expected,” Anders remarked. “None of these were Brekker. I’m betting we killed a lot of them at the crossing.”

“Anders,” a man in leathers called from nearby. He had one dagger ready, pitted leathers on his body, and an angry scowl. “What are you doing here?”

“You must be Brekker,” Hawke said.

“And you’re that lice-covered refugee,” Brekker replied coldly.

“I don’t think you get how a protection racket works,” Hawke said. “You get paid, you leave the Bone Pit shipments alone.”

“You’re making demands of me?” Brekker asked. “You own half a stake in a mine, and you think you’re somebody, huh? Some Fereldans don’t have the courtesy of knowing when to bloody die.”

“Alright, I’ve lost interest,” Hawke muttered, slamming Brekker and his cohorts into the ground with a blast of force strong enough to snap their spines.

—ROTC—

“I found the thieves responsible for the cargo thefts,” Hawke said to Hubert. “I put them out of business. Permanently.”

“Excellent,” Hubert crowed. “With that resolved, the mine’s profits will soar. There is another matter. The miners have reported a pest infestation at the mine. They’ve stopped working again. Can you deal with it?”

Hawke sighed. “Of course, Hubert.”

They headed up the stairs to the Keep, and Isabela coughed to get her attention. “Why exactly are we coming here?”

“The Viscount sent me a note,” Hawke replied. “Apparently something else urgent has gone wrong.”

“Have you seen Aveline?”

Hawke forced herself to unclench her fists. “No.”

“Perhaps you should?”

“Why?” Hawke asked bitterly. “So she can fail me again?” She set her jaw. “On second thought, let’s go see her. I want to hear her try to brush _this _off.”

Aveline brightened as Hawke entered her office. “Hawke. I don’t care what else is going on. We haven’t spoken about Leandra. How are you?”

“Keep your sympathy for the next person you let die,” Hawke spat.

Aveline’s face fell. “What was that for?”

“Your job is protecting the city,” Hawke growled. “If you were any good, my mother would still be alive.”

"Are you drunk?" Aveline asked.

"No, not really," Hawke replied. "I was drunk a couple hours ago. Now I'm just hung over. You should have stopped this!"

“Would have? Certainly. Could have?” She shook her head. “Some people are broken. I don’t have an answer that can satisfy you, Hawke. The guards never do. Cast your blame if you want, but this isn’t about me.”

“Yes _it bloody well is_!” Hawke shouted, jabbing a finger at Aveline. “That is exactly what this is about. You and the entire sodding guard not taking your jobs seriously. You rejected and rejected Emeric’s case, out of what I can only assume was pride, and my mother died. You didn’t want him ‘distracting your men’ and a lot of women had to pay the price. No, it can’t be said for sure that you could have saved her. But if you’d investigated properly, if your men had searched the foundry with even the vaguest sense of competence, you would have found that lab and _I wouldn’t be a fucking orphan_!”

“You feel better?” Aveline asked.

“No,” Hawke said softly. “I don’t. I don’t want to see you for a while, Aveline.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said as Hawke stormed out.

They found the Viscount alone in his office, looking more grave than usual. “Serah Hawke, thank you for coming. I heard about your mother. You have my deepest condolences.”

Hawke nodded her acknowledgement. “I appreciate that. How can I be of help?”

The Viscount’s face tightened, and he turned away. “It is apparently not enough that the Qunari define my political life. They must also infect what I hold personal. It is my son, Saemus. The life you saved, he would now squander by converting to the Qun. He has left for the Qunari compound.” He turned back to Hawke. “Please, convince Saemus to come home.”

“He is of age,” Hawke pointed out. “The decision seems rightly his.”

“I want to let him find his way, but in my position…he’s taken a great deal of inspiration from you. I want to allow his idealism, but not blindly.”

“This couldn’t have been easy to keep quiet. Did anyone else see him leave for the compound?”

“He made no secret of it. I’m sure he intended it as another of his ‘statements’ about closer relations. Your example inspired him. I might agree, but now is not the time. These matters are…delicate.”

“He’s politically dangerous, you mean,” Hawke surmised.

“The office must remain strong,” Dumar said. “At best, my opponents will claim that my office is now in Qunari hands. At worst, I lose my son.”

“This doesn’t make sense,” Hawke protested. “The Arishok has nothing good to say about Kirkwall, yet now he’s accepting conversions?”

“I cannot understand him,” Dumar replied. “Maker knows I’ve tried. But he landed with what, a few hundred men? Add up the deaths and defections, and the Arishok must need to bolster his ranks.” His face darkened. “I’m sure my son is quite the symbolic prize.”

“You know this will only end in trouble,” Hawke warned.

“Fitting,” Dumar said dryly. “That’s where it started. My son is not foolish. He will listen to reason. And you are in the best position to offer that opportunity.”

“This is all assuming the Arishok will even permit me to speak to him.”

“Please, do what you can.”

Hawke nodded tiredly.

—ROTC—

“Jansen,” Hawke called, most of her companions at her heels. “I understand there’s a pest infestation?”

“Thank the Maker you’re here. We’ve had to lock down the mines.”

“All right, not pests,” Hawke said. “Something bigger, I take it.”

“Crankovich was clearing out a collapsed section when giant spiders poured out the new opening,” Jansen explained. “They got Crankovich, poor sot. Rest of us made it out, but now we’re sitting here with our thumbs up our asses.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Hawke sighed.

“Good luck in there, hero.”

“Giant spiders,” Varric said. “You take us to the nicest places.”

“You volunteered to come along,” Hawke pointed out.

“Next time you say ‘Varric, come on, let’s go have an adventure,’ I’m going to say no,” Varric replied.

“You’d never turn me down.”

“You’re not supposed to just _say _that,” Varric sighed. “Give me some dignity, at least!”

“You two want to focus?” Anders asked. “We’re walking into a cave full of giant spiders here.”

“That’s why we brought you along,” Hawke replied. “And Merrill. We needed fire.”

There were indeed quite a few giant spiders in the new section of the tunnel, along with a truly massive queen spider that resisted the first several fireballs Anders and Hawke flung at it. Fenris hacked a leg off the queen as Hawke parried a giant spider’s lunge with her staff, staggering back under the creature’s superior strength until Isabela knifed it from behind. The queen lashed out at him and lost another leg for its trouble, and it reared back in pain, taking a lightning bolt in the underside from Merrill.

Varric speared the queen through an eye with a crossbow bolt as Anders chained lightning and incinerated a trio of smaller spiders. Reloading, the dwarf put an incendiary bolt through the queen’s face as Fenris relieved it of another limb, the body dragging on one side as it lost the support of its amputated legs.

Hawke crushed a spider into goo with a pulse of force magic, splattering the walls with the remains. “Fenris, _kill _that damned thing, would you?”

Fenris spun his sword, bringing it down through the smoking ruin of the queen spider’s face and twisting the blade until the spider stopped twitching.

Silence fell in the tunnel, broken only by the drip of spider guts falling onto the stone floor. “Everyone all right?”

“I think I got nicked,” Merrill said, weaving. Hawke caught her as she fell, and Anders was there in seconds. “I don’t feel so good…”

“She’s been stung,” Anders said, finding the messy wound on her wrist. “She’s going to need rest, but I can fix this.”

“Thanks, Anders,” Hawke said as the healer set to work. “Merrill, you’re going to be all right.”

“She’s unconscious,” Anders warned. “I just put her to sleep.”

“Come on, Daisy, hang in there,” Varric urged.

Eventually, Anders pronounced her safe to move, and Hawke scooped the sleeping elf off the ground, Isabela retrieving Merrill’s staff as they left the mine.

“Tell me again why you accepted partial ownership of this place?” Fenris asked as he led the way out of the tunnel.

“You know why. Someone had to stand up for these workers,” Hawke said. She whistled as they emerged into daylight, catching Jansen’s attention. “All clear. It’s a bit messy down there, but you should be safe now.”

“Thank the Maker, and thank you!” Jansen’s face fell as he looked over Merrill. “Is she hurt? Will she be all right?”

“She will be,” Hawke said.

Jansen leaned back as he caught a whiff of them. “Is that what the inside of a spider smells like?”

“Unfortunately.”

Jansen nodded, gesturing to the other workers. “Well, let’s get back to work, boys! And dibs on the spider fangs. Gonna make a necklace for the wife!”

They made quite a sight trooping through the city, Hawke carrying an unconscious Dalish elf in her arms. Hawke was well-known enough that nobody stopped them, but they got plenty of curious or confused looks as they crossed Hightown’s market.

“I’ll stick around, keep an eye on her,” Anders promised as Hawke laid Merrill on the bed in her estate. “She should wake up in an hour or so.”

“Thanks, Anders.”

Anders nodded, looking down at Merrill. “She may be reckless for dealing with demons, but she’s one of the group. You go get cleaned up and then find out what the Qunari want with the Viscount’s son.” Hawke turned to leave. “And Hawke? Be careful.”

“You know it.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her too,” Isabela said suddenly.

Hawke frowned. “I need you with me on this.”

Isabela shook her head. “I’ll pass on that one, thanks. Have fun talking to the Arishok.”

“What, you got a fear of Qunari or something?”

“I just don’t want to go, all right?” Isabela snapped. “Can’t you just drop it?”

“I…all right, fine,” Hawke said, taking a half-step back. “It’s dropped. Look after Merrill.”

—ROTC—

Halfway through Lowtown, Varric stopped short. “We’re in trouble.”

“We always are,” Hawke said. “Why?”

“Look around.” Hawke glanced around the deserted street. “Lowtown’s never empty this time of day.”

“Get them!”

Hawke scowled at Varric. “Don’t you ever get tired of being right?”

“Right, there’s the target!” One of the men rushing into the street shouted. “They don’t reach the compound!”

Fenris killed the first three to approach them without breaking stride, blood spraying the cobblestones. “Hawke, behind us!” Varric shouted, shooting an archer in the throat. Hawke yanked the other two archers who had tried to blindside them off their feet with a pulse of force magic, wishing Isabela had come along as Sebastian shot one of the downed men and Varric got the other.

The trio turned to find a trail of bodies in Fenris’s wake, most of the corpses in multiple pieces. He wiped the blood from his face and his blade, before turning to Hawke. “So who hired that lot?” He asked. “Anti-Qunari, anti-viscount, or Saemus himself not wanting to be rescued?”

“Saemus isn’t the type,” Hawke said. “Let’s go.”

The Qunari at the gate of the compound barely blinked as they approached. “You are allowed, basra, until the Arishok declares otherwise.”

“Well, I hope the viscount’s boy hasn’t settled in,” Varric said quietly as they crossed the compound.

“Serah Hawke,” the Arishok said by way of greeting.

“I’m here about the viscount’s son,” Hawke replied.

“Are you?” The Arishok bowed his mighty head. “In four years I have made no threat, and fanatics have lined up to hate us merely because we exist. But despite lies and fear, bas still beg me to let them come to the Qun. They hunger for purpose.” Hawke opened her mouth to reply, but the Arishok continued. “The son has made a choice. You will not deny him that.”

“No doubt you see the advantage of having the viscount’s son at arm’s reach,” Hawke pointed out.

“He is no longer the viscount’s son,” the Arishok insisted. “Viddathari give up their lives for the certainty only Qunari know.”

Hawke blinked in surprise. “You would not take advantage of his connections?”

“The Qun may demand that advantage, but I do not. It was his choice to be educated. He is not my prisoner.” Hawke tilted her head, and her eyes widened at what the Arishok said next. “He is not even here.”

“He’s not?” Hawke blurted out.

“He went to his father,” the Arishok rumbled. “Ask the viscount why he would send you and a letter both.”

“All right, _that _probably could have been mentioned earlier,” Hawke sighed.

“They are meeting at the Chantry. A last, pointless appeal, I assume.”

“I doubt he’d involve the Chantry in such a personal matter,” Varric said.

“No,” Hawke agreed, “But we know who would. Mother Petrice.”

“A suspect in many things,” the Arishok said. “If she has threatened someone under my command again, there is only one response.”

“Don’t make things worse by marching your men though the streets without cause,” Hawke pleaded.

“This _is _cause.” Hawke winced. “This is the last insult I will suffer, Hawke. Viddathari are of the Qun. This offense will have an answer.”

“Allow me to handle this,” Hawke said.

“You will resolve this matter with these agents of the Chantry, Hawke. I am watching.”

By the time they reached the Chantry, night had fallen. Hawke entered with her staff drawn, spotting a figure kneeling at the altar. “Saemus?” She called. No answer. “Saemus!”

Silence reigned in the Chantry. “Hawke, there is something deeply wrong here,” Sebastian said, his bow ready but not drawn.

“No argument here,” Hawke muttered, slowly ascending the steps to the altar. “Saemus, can you hear me?” She tapped him on the shoulder, and the boy’s body slowly tipped over, revealing a slashed throat. “Andraste’s blood!”

“Serah Hawke, look at what you have done!” Hawke looked up at the jeering tone, spotting Mother Petrice crossing the Chantry’s main hall, a pack of zealots behind her. “To pounce upon the viscount’s son, a repentant convert, in the Chantry itself? A crime with no excuse. Your Qunari masters will finally answer.”

"You know, Petrice, for anyone else this would be a new low," Hawke said. "But sadly for you, it's just a new middle."

“He deliberately denied the Maker!” Petrice hissed. “How many would follow if he went unpunished? And yet, even this sympathizer will inspire vengeance when his brutal murder is exposed.”

“You won’t get the Qunari ousted, you’ll get a slaughter,” Hawke argued. “On _both _sides!”

“To die untested would be the real crime,” Petrice said loftily. “People need the opportunity to defend faith. Starting with you.” She turned to the crowd following her. “Earn your reward in this life and the next! These heretics must die!” She fled as the mob charged up the stairs.

Unfortunately, Sebastian and Varric were waiting at the top of the stairs, with Fenris in front of them. With the high ground and superior skill, the stairs were soon awash in blood, and bodies piled at the bottom of the steps.

“How _dare _they invoke the Maker’s name in this insanity?” Sebastian said furiously. “How dare they befoul the Chantry this way?”

“The innocent they murdered doesn’t count, I suppose?” Hawke asked archly.

“Do you see, Your Grace?” Petrice said as she descended the stairs from the private chambers, the Grand Cleric in tow. “Traitors attacking the very core of the Chantry! They defile with every step!”

“There is death in every corner, young mother,” Elthina said. “It is as you predicted. All too well.”

“She’s on to you, Petrice,” Hawke said. “Quick, lie harder!”

“Don’t you spout your Qunari filth,” Petrice spat. “This is a hand of the Divine.”

“I have ears, Mother Petrice,” Elthina said mildly. “The Maker would have me use them.”

“Viscount Dumar’s son is dead, killed here in your name,” Hawke explained.

“I’m sure my name won’t like that,” Elthina said. “Petrice?”

“Saemus Dumar was a Qunari convert!” Petrice stammered. “He came here to repent and was murdered!”

“On your order,” Hawke shot back. “It’s a ruse, Your Grace. Saemus was killed to set people against the Qunari.”

“Hawke’s words are true, Your Grace,” Sebastian said quietly. “Mother Petrice accosted us as we found the body, intending to frame us for the death.”

“This is no longer a matter of heathens squatting in the docks,” Petrice insisted. “People are leaving us to join them!”

“And we must pray for them like any other,” Elthina lectured.

“They deny the Maker!” Petrice declared as if it proved her argument.

“And you diminish Him, even as you claim His side,” Elthina replied calmly. “Andraste did not volunteer for the flame.” She turned to Hawke. “Serah Hawke, you act on behalf of the viscount?” Hawke nodded. “The young mother has erred in her judgment. A court will decide her fate. The Chantry respects the law, and so must she.”

Hawke fought back the derisive remark about the Chantry’s adherence to the law when they were making Harrowed mages Tranquil and imprisoning families.

“Grand Cleric?” Petrice asked, dumbfounded as her plans collapsed around her. Elthina didn’t respond, leaving the way she had come. “Grand Cleric!”

An arrow sprouted from Petrice’s chest, and she staggered back. Hawke had her staff halfway up when she spotted the Qunari archer standing at the door to the Chantry, drawing another arrow. He loosed the shot, and Petrice’s head snapped back, the arrow embedded in her forehead.

“We protect those of the Qun,” the archer intoned. “We do not abandon our own.”

Elthina paused halfway up the stairs. “Please, send for Viscount Dumar.”

Only minutes later, the Viscount was cradling his son’s body, his head bowed. “My son,” he said softly. “Murdered in the heart of the Chantry, by those who held a sacred trust. What hope for this city, when we fail our own so completely?”

“The Arishok is still here, Excellency,” Hawke ventured. “You must be ready to stand up to him.”

“I cannot,” Dumar replied. “I have already failed where it mattered most.” His shoulders heaved, and his tears began to fall. “Please, Hawke. Leave me.”

Hawke nodded. “Of course. For what it’s worth…I’m sorry. Sebastian?”

“I’ll handle things here,” the archer replied.

“So, everything is great now,” Varric said darkly as they left the Chantry. “Qunari in the Chantry and a dead son will just fade from memory.”

“I doubt any side was satisfied,” Fenris replied. “And now?”

“Not our move,” Hawke said. “We wait to see what the Arishok does. Varric, can you make it home without trouble?”

“Ever since we cleared out the gangs in Lowtown things have been quiet,” Varric replied. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good.”

When Hawke returned to the estate, Isabela was gone, but Merrill was sitting up on Hawke’s bed and Anders was giving her a final check. “You took a lot of venom,” Anders was saying. “You may feel weak for a day or two, but you’ll be all right.”

“Thanks, Anders,” Merrill said shyly. “I appreciate you looking after me.”

“You’re one of Hawke’s,” Anders replied. “She’d never forgive me if something permanent happened to you.”

“You two missed out on some excitement,” Hawke said from the door. “Saemus Dumar is dead. Killed by Mother Petrice, who was herself killed by a Qunari. In the Chantry itself. With Grand Cleric Elthina as a witness.”

Anders’ jaw dropped. “Anything else? A new Blight starting? The city crumbling into the sea? Cheese been declared illegal?”

“We’ll make it,” Hawke said. “This is out of our hands for the time being. Just take some time and breathe before the storm hits.”

“I’ll be downstairs,” Anders said.

Hawke nudged him with an elbow as he passed. “Get some food while you’re here. You have to take care of yourself too.” Anders smiled faintly, nodding as he left. “Merrill, you feel like staying the night? Slumber party?”

—ROTC—

The next day, Varric was holding court in the Hanged Man. “And then Hawke tore the door clean off its hinges, walked into the room, and…” He trailed off as Hawke nudged through the crowd. “I guess we’ll finish this later.”

The crowd dispersed as Hawke took a seat next to Varric. “Have you got a minute?”

“For you, I have all the time in the world,” Varric said. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I know you and the Rivaini have something going. So, what’s going on, Hawke?”

Hawke smirked. “Well, well, well, Varric, I never thought you were the jealous type. I’m flattered.”

“It’s the chest hair, isn’t it?” Varric sighed. “Women can never resist my chest hair. Unfortunately, it’s not to be. I’m spoken for.”

“I don’t mind sharing,” Hawke purred. “But Bianca stands in my way again, does she?”

“What can I say? She’s the jealous type.” Varric hesitated. “Listen, as your friend, I feel like I’d be doing you a disservice if I didn’t say something. Isabela is a great girl, but I think you’re likely to get hurt. By which I mean stabbed and left for dead.”

“I know you mean well, Varric, but don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”

“That’d be a switch,” Varric snorted. “I certainly hope so.”

“Speaking of which,” Hawke said as she saw a man serenading Isabela with some truly awful rhymes. “I’d better go entertain the girl.”

“Have fun, Hawke,” Varric chuckled as he headed up to his suite.

Hawke glanced over at the man reading the awful poetry as Isabela knocked back another drink. "Mind if I give it a try?"

"You couldn't possibly be any worse," Isabela replied, staring straight ahead. "Thrill me."

"Roses are red, violets are blue," Hawke said. "Us in my bed, me under you." The pirate snorted, grinning widely. "Just kidding. I'm still on top." Isabela pouted.

The next few days passed in a blur. Hawke rose, ate, drank with Varric, and went to sleep. Isabela seemed distant, Merrill was mostly focusing on restoring her mirror, but Fenris was always available to talk and Anders could always use help in his clinic.

That was, of course, until both Aveline and Isabela showed up at Hawke’s house at once. Aveline called up the stairs. "Hawke? Are you decent?"

"Not morally, but I'm wearing pants, if that's what you're asking."

“Hawke, I need to speak to you,” Isabela said.

“This is important,” Aveline interrupted. “Don’t interrupt with your selfish prattle.”

“Get off your high horse,” Isabela said irritably. “I have problems, too.”

“Of course,” Aveline scoffed. “What drink should I order and who’s the father?”

“Oh, you little…”

“Are there any good seats left?” Hawke asked, glaring down at them from the top of the stairs. “What is it now, you two?”

Aveline shouldered past Isabela. “The Arishok is sheltering two fugitives who have ‘converted’ to the Qun. He must be convinced to release them.”

“Sounds like a job for the guards,” Hawke said. “I’m not a guard, I actually get things done.”

Aveline let the jab pass by. “He’s already feared because of Petrice. If people start to think he can ignore the law…I need your help so this doesn’t get out of hand. Sending a full patrol would just increase tension. But I suspect the viscount was hoping I would bring this to you.”

“Then he should have come himself,” Hawke replied.

“Perhaps, but it’s understandable that he’s not at his best,” Aveline said. “I’d like to help him, if I can.”

“I’m going to die!” Isabela blurted out. Hawke raised an eyebrow, looking over. “There. Got your attention. Real problem. Am I dramatic? Yes. Is it justified?" Isabela paused. "Also yes!”

“Hold on, hold on,” Hawke said. “What’s this about?”

“Remember the relic? The one Castillon is going to kill me over? A man called Wall-Eyed Sam has it. If you help me get it, Castillon won’t kill me. Please.”

“I’m trying to keep the entire city from rioting against the Qunari!” Aveline protested.

“Your job, you mean,” Hawke said acidly.

“Well, maybe it’s connected,” Isabela said uneasily.

“What?” Aveline and Hawke said simultaneously.

“I’m just saying maybe it will help,” Isabela hedged. “It’s important to someone, right?”

“Now you start being responsible?” Aveline asked. “Shit.”

“This came up pretty suddenly, Isabela,” Hawke said.

“I’ve been tracking any mentions of it for days,” Isabela said. “Sam’s been talking to black market dealers all over Lowtown. It didn’t take me long to get wind of it. What frustrates me is he’s held on to the relic for so long.”

“Who’s he trying to sell it to?”

“Tevinter mages,” Isabela said. “I suggest we bring Fenris, since I doubt they’ll look kindly on us interrupting.”

“And this Sam?”

“Sam used to run with Martin.”

“Yeah, your ex-raider friend.”

“Martin says Sam’s a bit of a magpie, picking up things that don’t belong to him. Not a trustworthy sort.”

“You’re sure this is the relic you’re after?”

“I’ve had my ear to the ground for a while,” Isabela explained. “There was a description of the book. It’s the right one.”

“Book?” Hawke echoed. “I thought you didn’t know what the relic was. In fact, I’m sure you said you didn’t know.”

“Well, I…I know it’s a book,” Isabela admitted. “But that’s all I know. It’s written in a foreign tongue.” She sighed in exasperation. “Honestly, what does it matter? It’ll save me from Castillon, so I need it.”

“This issue has to be resolved before we take on the Qunari,” Hawke said. “You know I’ll always be there for you, Izzy.”

A broad smile spread Isabela’s features. “Thank you, Hawke.”

“You trust her this much?” Aveline asked skeptically. _I trust you that little_, Hawke thought viciously.

“Probably not,” Isabela said. “I wouldn’t.”

“They won’t wait at the compound forever, Hawke,” Aveline protested. “I really do hope this helps, because if it doesn’t…”

“You think I like having this thing on my mind?” Isabela asked. “Come on. The exchange is happening tonight, but I already tried to find Sam. I know where some of his contacts are, we can lean on them to find out.”

“Get Anders from downstairs and Fenris from his mansion, I’ll meet you outside,” Hawke said. “We’ll pick up Varric and Merrill in Lowtown.” Isabela nodded, leaving immediately.

“I can’t believe you’re going to just drop everything to help her,” Aveline said.

“_She’s_ never let me down yet,” Hawke pointed out. “But on topic, isn’t it odd that someone would run to the Qunari?”

“They’re elves accused of murder,” Aveline replied. “Perhaps they feel they’ve got nothing to lose by fleeing the alienage.”

“And if their conversion is genuine?”

“I…don’t know,” Aveline admitted. “But how many more will try it if I allow this? Justice must be respected.”

“You’re expecting trouble?”

“After what happened to the viscount’s son? Yes. I’m hoping the Qunari aren’t looking for a fight. I’m hoping they’ll be reasonable. But we’ll see.”

—ROTC—

“Are you sure about this?” Cassandra asked. “The Champion was _asked _to go to the Qunari?”

“I was there, Seeker,” Varric said. “I suppose you think she planned the entire thing?”

“Considering what it led to?”

“Come on, Seeker. I’m not going to sell Hawke short, but nobody could have foreseen the way that would go down. Or do you still think I’m lying to protect my friend?”

“There are elements of your story that…make sense,” Cassandra admitted. “And you couldn’t have known about them otherwise.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Varric said cheerfully.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re telling me everything.”

“I _want _this story to be told,” Varric insisted. “You’re not the first to get it all wrong. I think I owe Hawke that much.”

—ROTC—

The man's head made a dull thunk as it bounced off the wood of the shelving built onto the wall. "This is getting old," Hawke growled. "_Where is he_?"

"Piss off," the man spat.

"Shame Broody's not here," Varric said. "He could just reach into this idiot's lungs and shake some answers loose."

“I’m not going to wait until he and Isabela get back with Merrill. Besides, I've got my own methods," Hawke replied. "You realize I'm a mage." The man nodded, looking less confident. "I won't turn you into a toad, don't worry. That would be too easy. See, I'm skilled with Force Magic." Hawke fished a copper out of her coin pouch, holding it in her open palm. Her glare remained fixed on the man as the coin shook, before crushing inwards, compacting in on itself until it was a tiny ball of metal. "Start talking, or I'll do that to your teeth, one at a time. I want Wall-Eyed Sam's location. _Now_."

The man talked.

"Could you have actually done that to his teeth?" Varric asked as they left.

"Probably," Hawke replied. "Small chance I would have just crushed his head in the attempt, though."

“Hawke,” Isabela called, Fenris and Merrill in tow.

“He’s at the foundry district,” Hawke said. “Come on!”

Fortunately, the district was nearby. Unfortunately, they were not the first to arrive. Several Qunari were waiting outside the foundry, and their leader shouted as they approached. “Hold! You will surrender the relic!”

Isabela scowled. “I don’t have your stupid relic!”

“The _bas_ has no honor. Kill it!” Hawke swept her staff along the ground, a row of ice spikes erupting through the ground and impaling the Qunari in front. Varric downed another as Fenris leapt over the row of spikes and engaged the last one, Isabela and the others pushing towards the foundry.

Fenris caught up with them a moment later, his blade still dripping blood. “What are the Qunari doing here?” Hawke asked. “Wait. Isabela, you’ve always been absent for one reason or another when we’ve interacted with them. What’s going on here?”

Isabela shifted uncomfortably. “About that. The relic belongs to the Qunari, and there’s a small chance they want it back.”

Hawke’s jaw dropped. “All right, that does it. Tell me what you know. _All _of it.”

“I’ve always known what the relic is,” Isabela confessed. “I just didn’t want to…worry you. The relic is a Qunari text handwritten by that philosopher of theirs – Keslan, Cousland…whatever his name is.”

“Koslun?” Fenris supplied.

“That’s the one.”

Fenris tilted his head. “The founder of their religion, the most revered being in their history? That text would be sacred beyond measure.”

“I stole it from them, they followed me here to reclaim it, and it’s why they’re still in Kirkwall,” Isabela finished in a rush. “They can’t leave the Free Marches without it.”

“How in the world did you steal something that important from the Qunari?”

“The Arishok never had it,” Isabela explained. “The Orlesians did. They had plans to return it to the Qunari. I simply had to waylay the Orlesian convoy before it met up with the Arishok and his men. Getting the relic was easy. Getting away from the Qunari was the hard part.”

“I imagine they would be rather tetched about that.” Hawke shook her head. “Why would anyone besides the Qunari want this book anyway?”

“The Imperium has been at war with the Qunari for centuries,” Fenris said.

Isabela nodded. “If they get their hands on it, it will strike a blow to Qunari morale. That’s probably what these mages want with the book.”

“Maybe giving it back would solve Aveline’s problem.”

“That mess is over a couple of elves,” Isabela protested. “I need it to save my own skin.”

“You could have done something about the Qunari, but you didn’t,” Hawke said. “Isabela, why?”

“Done what? The blighted thing didn’t show up for three years!” She sighed. “Look, the book’s right in this building, and I’m not letting it slip away again. It’s the only thing that’ll get Castillon off my back. Please tell me you’ll give the relic to me.”

Hawke paused to consider the situation. On the one hand, the Qunari couldn’t leave without the relic. On the other, there was no guarantee they would leave once they had gotten it, now that they had begun recruiting among the impoverished citizens of Kirkwall. The Arishok had already shown his disdain for the city and its denizens repeatedly, and Aveline’s pushing to arrest the fugitives would no doubt complicate the matter.

But what it really came down to was that Hawke’s friend was in trouble, and there was only one way to help her.

“It’s yours,” Hawke finally said. “Your life depends on it.”

Isabela’s eyes widened. “Really? I…wasn’t expecting that.” She smiled. “It’s nice to have someone on my side, for once.”

“I was always on your side,” Hawke said. “If you’d leveled with me from the start, this could have been avoided.”

Isabela gave her a sad look. “Come on, there’s no time to waste.”

Varric tried the door, nodding as it opened easily. There were several people in Tevinter-style mage robes facing off with a single man who could only be Wall-Eyed Sam. With the man’s back to them, Hawke couldn’t tell for sure if his name was appropriate. She nodded to her compatriots, who spread out along the overlook.

“Where is the relic?” One of the mages demanded.

“I…er…I have it,” Sam said.

“The Tome of Koslun will not fall into Tevinter hands!” A Qunari declared from the opposite side of the building. Sam fled out a side door, and Isabela took off after him, drawing her daggers.

“Blood and spite!” The mage shouted, drawing her staff and flinging a bolt of fire that splattered against the wall next to the Qunari, who drew a hefty battleaxe.

“_Ataash Qunari!_”

Things devolved into chaos immediately, mages flinging spells as Qunari returned fire with thrown javelins. Hawke and her remaining companions joined the fight, Hawke yanking everyone on the foundry floor into a tight cluster as Merrill and Anders dropped fireballs on the group.

Fenris and Varric had taken up position at the ramp leading up to their overlook, and the remaining Qunari began charging them, ignoring their comrades’ deaths as Hawke, Merrill, and Anders switched to lightning attacks. Varric dropped the sten leading the group with a shot to the face, and Fenris dodged two strikes from the remaining Qunari’s battleaxe before shearing both his hands off at the wrist and kicking him through a railing. Varric leaned over the edge of the ramp, putting a bolt into the critically injured Qunari to finish him.

“Come on,” Hawke urged, leading her companions out of the foundry through the door that Sam and Isabela had used.

Wall-Eyed Sam – presumably, Hawke was never absolutely sure it was actually him – was laying dead amongst the Qunari Hawke and her companions had killed before entering the foundry, a folded note clutched in his hand. Hawke hesitated before picking it up, unfolding it slowly.

“Dear Hawke,” she read aloud. “I have the relic, and I am gone. I'm sorry it has to be this way. You've been a loyal ally, but this is best for us both. You promised me the relic, and I know you'll fight Castillon for me, but I don't want this. I've dragged you too far into this mess already. You don’t have to forgive me, but I hope you understand.” She folded the note slowly, tucking it away.

“Hawke, I…” Varric’s voice failed him. “I’m sorry.”

“She’ll be back,” Hawke said confidently. “Come on. We have to see to Aveline.”

They made their way down to the docks, Hawke hoping to run into Isabela along the way. Aveline was waiting outside the gate alongside several guardsmen. The Qunari who usually stood by the gate was standing in front of it, his arms crossed. “This is not going to be easy,” Aveline warned.

“Nothing ever is,” Hawke said. “Come on. Let’s get this done.”

Aveline nodded, turning to the Qunari gate guard. “I request an audience with the Arishok.”

The guard stared her down for a moment. “He will allow it, but not in this number.”

“I will only bring my friend here and a small complement of my guard. Is that few enough?”

“It is.” He moved out of the way of the gate. “Enter.”

The Arishok met them at the bottom of the stairs. There was a tension in the air, in no small part due to the two monstrously huge weapons the Arishok was carrying. A greatsword even more imposing than Fenris’s blade was strapped across his back, and he hefted a battleaxe in one hand with no visible difficulty. “Shanedan,” he said calmly.

“Greetings, Arishok,” Aveline said. “We come regarding the elven fugitives that took refuge here.”

“Irrelevant,” the Arishok replied. “I would speak to Hawke about the relic stolen from my grasp.”

“One of my former companions stole it, but she’ll turn up,” Hawke said.

Aveline’s head snapped around. “What? Isabela?”

“Not now,” Hawke said tersely.

“Her part was clear,” the Arishok said, ignoring the byplay. “Your admission…is welcome.”

Aveline tried to take control of the situation. “An issue for another time. We’re here for the fugitives.”

“The elves are now viddathari. They have chosen to submit to the Qun. They will be protected.”

Hawke asked the obvious question. “Have they truly converted, or are they simply using you as a shield?”

“They have chosen, and so have I. You have not hidden the abuses of your zealots, or the corruption of this city. You will understand why I must do this. Let us look at your 'dangerous' criminals.' Speak, viddathari, who did you murder, and why?"

A pair of slender elven men – boys, really – with dark red headwraps and burning eyes came forward. The taller of them spat out his words, still angry. "A city guard forced himself on our sister. We reported him – or tried to – but they did nothing about it, no matter what we said. So, my brother and I paid him a visit." Hawke’s jaw dropped.

"That doesn't excuse murder!" Aveline protested.

Hawke grabbed her by the arm. “Are these elves telling the truth?”

Aveline jerked her arm free. “There have been rumors. I will investigate, but they still took the law into their own hands.”

What little respect Hawke had left for Aveline shattered. “You’ll _investigate_?” Hawke repeated. “I’ve seen your investigations, Aveline. The time to investigate was when these two brought the matter before your guards! And as for taking the law into one’s own hands, let me remind you who’s been cleaning up the gangs at night! I take the law into my hands plenty!”

“Sometimes that is necessary,” the Arishok said.

“Like you avenged the viscount’s son?” Aveline asked, clearly uncomfortable with Hawke turning on her. “It was not right then, and it’s not right now.”

“Like it wasn’t right for me to kill the man who murdered my mother?” Hawke asked pointedly. “I would have done – and have done – the same thing in their shoes.”

“Hawke, that’s not helping!”

“Their actions are mere symptoms,” the Arishok said. “Your society is the disease. The viddathari will submit to the Qun, and find a path your way has denied them.”

“You can’t just decide that,” Aveline insisted. “You must hand them over.”

The Arishok stared her down. “Tell me, Hawke, what would you do in my place?”

“I would never surrender someone under my protection,” Hawke said immediately.

“Exactly so,” the Arishok agreed. He seemed to come to a decision. “I cannot leave without the relic, and I cannot stay and remind blind to this dysfunction. There is only one solution.”

Hawke realized what he meant immediately. “Oh, _shit_.”

“Arishok, there is no need for– ” The Arishok silenced her with a gesture.

He turned away. "_Vinek kathas!_”

The guard standing next to Hawke was immediately skewered on a thrown spear. More spears followed. A Qunari charged them with an axe, and Hawke ducked his swing, punching him in the face and augmenting the blow with a burst of force that snapped the Qunari’s neck. She reached for her staff, but Aveline waved her off. “Not here! Too open! Go!”

They retreated under a rain of spears, the rest of Aveline’s guard contingent falling under the attack before they made it to the gates, slamming them shut behind them. “Fenris, Varric, Anders, grab some barrels, crates, _anything_! We need to bar this gate!”

“I got an idea,” Anders said. He raised his staff, hosing down the gate with a stream of frost until ice crawled over the bars, a foot thick. “That should hold them for a while, at least.”

“Aveline,” Hawke said. “Is this the only way out of there?”

“The compound backs up against a warehouse,” she said. “They could break out that way. The street heads back to Lowtown.”

Hawke cursed. “They’re going to take the city.”

"Got a plan?" Varric asked, looking out at the chaos.

"One-eighth of a plan, seven-eighths of a prayer," Hawke said softly.

"He's insane," Aveline murmured, her eyes distant. "What can he hope to gain from this?"

Hawke whirled around, grabbing Aveline by the front of her armor and shoving her back. The guard captain tumbled to the floor. "The ruddy fuck do you think he wants, Aveline? He's spent the last several months talking about how un-Qunari this city is, and now you've proven his point! If you'd just _shut up_ and let me handle it, maybe we could have prevented this, but you just had to keep butting in! _The entire city is soaked in oil and you just had to throw a lit torch on it!_"

“Hawke!” Varric barked. “I know you’re upset, but now is _not _the time.”

Hawke and Aveline glared at each other, and for several moments seemed a breath away from coming to blows. “We should head to the Keep and rally my guardsmen,” Aveline finally said.

“He’ll be heading for the Keep anyway,” Hawke replied. “He doesn’t care about the slums – he’ll be going after the Viscount.” The two nodded to each other, an uneasy peace established.

Aveline ordered her guards to secure the docks as Hawke led the way up the stairs to Lowtown. Screams echoed down the angular streets, and fires seemed to be set everywhere.

“If the Qunari are trying to take the city, why is everything _on fire_?” Anders muttered, quenching a pile of burning rubble where a scaffold had collapsed to block their path with a burst of frost. Hawke slammed her staff into the ground, shattering the obstruction.

Qunari were waiting on the other side. Hawke blew the first one to charge across the street, the soldier hitting the far wall with enough force to crack the stone. He slid to the ground and did not get up, but his comrades were already storming past him. Varric dropped the first with a bolt through the eye and Merrill killed the second with a lightning bolt. The remaining Qunari was halfway through a battle cry of ‘Ataash Qunari!’ when Fenris swept his legs out from under him and took his head off.

Hawke urged them on, and they rounded a corner, crossing in front of a high, barred gate.

“The alienage elves locked themselves in,” Merrill said. “Smart.”

There were plenty of corpses between them and Hightown, most of them civilians. Most of the guards they found were dead or dying, entire squads wiped out with only a few Qunari corpses in their midst.

They cut across the old city slums near Gamlen’s house – Hawke was heartened to see the house intact and the door securely barred – and found their first surprise. A pack of men wearing Grey Warden plate were engaging twice their number of Qunari, and holding their own until Hawke yanked the Qunari off their feet with a well-placed burst of force. The Wardens fell upon them, cutting throats and kicking weapons away from the corpses.

Hawke tilted her head, looking at the Warden squad’s leader. “Stroud?” It was hard to tell under all the blood on the man’s face, but the mustache was unmistakable. The man nodded politely, stepping away to check on one of his men who was wiping blood from his greatsword. He removed his helmet, and Hawke’s jaw dropped. “_Carver_?”

“Somehow, I knew it would be you,” Carver said dryly. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Are you injured? Are there more of you?” Hawke knew immediately the answer to the first was a no. She knew how Carver fought. There was a new look in his eye, a firmer set to his jaw. He looked…resolved, Hawke thought. Certain of himself for the first time.

“I’m good, but we’re not the help you need,” Carver said.

“You have our sincere thanks,” Stroud interjected. “This attack was…most unexpected.”

“Yeah, the Qunari assaulting the city wasn’t on my agenda either, but this is what happens when you make plans,” Hawke quipped. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Isabela.”

“Not lately,” Carver said. “Should I have?”

“She’s missing, but she’ll turn up,” Hawke replied.

Carver nodded. “Stroud, we need to move. We’ve already delayed too long.”

Stroud nodded. “What, you’re not helping?” Hawke demanded. “The city’s under attack!”

“This is not our fight,” Stroud said stiffly. “The Grey Wardens do not involve themselves in political affairs.”

“Tell that to the Hero of Ferelden,” Hawke snapped.

“Those were special circumstances,” Stroud replied. “I fear pressing matters take us elsewhere, but we can spread word to the other free cities. Perhaps they will bring aid.”

“What could be more pressing than this?” Hawke asked. “You were just attacked by the Qunari themselves, surely that involves you.”

“We can’t talk about it,” Carver said, although the look in his eyes showed his longing to draw steel with them.

“The Qunari are of far greater concern to you, I am certain, but we must return to our mission,” Stroud continued.

“Wait,” Hawke pleaded. “Carver, I need to tell you about Mother.”

“I know,” Carver said. “I already know what happened.” He set a hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “I’m sure you did your best. You always do.”

Hawke smiled faintly. “Thanks.”

“This is not the time,” Stroud urged. “We must move on.”

Carver nodded. “Take care of yourself, Dana. Go give these Qunari an ass-kicking for us.”

Hawke clasped hands with him. “You know it.”

—ROTC—

_Aveline - After the Deep Roads  
Since the adventure in the Deep Roads, Aveline has settled into life as the captain of the guard. She has removed the stain of Captain Jeven's corruption and turned the guardsmen into effective enforcers of law and order._

_Aveline is utterly dedicated to her job, leaving no time for anything beyond the occasional sidetrack with Hawke—even that is an excuse to watch over people she cares about. She is a guardian in every waking moment, and she doesn't seem to know how to put down the weight she carries. Becoming captain of the guard title should have brought Aveline stability, but she has instead found herself taxed by having so many people under her care. She is very protective of the people she commands, to the point of training each guardsman herself and personally reinforcing otherwise simple patrols. Injury rates are lower than ever before, but the guards are beginning to feel smothered._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.


	18. The Siege of Kirkwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Qunari attack, a Champion is named, and an invitation is extended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's only been four days since the last update but FUUUUCK IIIIIT WE'RE POSTING THIS CHAPTER NOW.
> 
> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_The City of Starkhaven  
Starkhaven, the largest city in the Free Marches, sits on the bank of the great Minanter River. I remember my visit to the city quite clearly. I was taken up the river by barge—a cumbersome vessel that moved at a stately pace—and disembarked by the city's central square, an impressive space with marble fountains and surrounded by kingly estates._

_Starkhaven's wealth was truly a sight to behold. A path paved in granite led up to the grandest building I've ever seen. My guide indicated that this was the residence of Starkhaven's ruler, Prince Vael._

_We supped at the table of my guide's closest friend. I was presented with a variety of dishes from the region. One in particular stood out: fish and egg pie, Starkhaven's most famous dish. Three deboned fish, caught just that day, were cooked in a porcelain vessel with boiled eggs, dried fruit, spices, and thickened cream, all topped with a light crust. Superb!_

_—From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi_

—ROTC—

Isabela was definitely _not_ feeling guilty. At all. There was nothing to be guilty _about_. She had told Hawke from the start that she needed the relic. Hawke had promised it to her. It was just her leaving immediately to pass it off to Castillon. She’d left a note! Going back, playing the hero, that wasn’t her style. Isabela wasn’t the hero type. Never had been. Heroes had a bad habit of dying heroically. Hawke was a hero. Isabela was not. Those were simply the facts.

“Oh, Maker,” Isabela murmured. “I’m going to put her needs before mine. I didn’t make her fall in love with _me_. I’m falling for _her_.” She scowled. “_You stupid bitch!_”

—ROTC—

There were more dead guards outside the Hanged Man, arranged as though they had been cut off and surrounded before going down. There were only a few Qunari corpses about.

“Your guards aren’t making much of a showing here,” Fenris said. “The Qunari are slaughtering your men.”

“All the more reason to get to the Keep,” Aveline replied through gritted teeth. “And quickly.”

Hawke found the Lowtown market occupied. Unfortunately, it was not occupied by merchants and customers as per usual. The Qunari were not alone here, a dozen elves with bows or looted weapons and the red headwrap of the viddathari supporting a handful of Qunari apparently left behind to either secure the market or slow down Hawke’s push to the Keep.

It was a bloodbath. The elves were unarmored and untrained, and Fenris’s blade made short work of them as the others took on the Qunari.

“The Arishok’s been recruiting heavily,” Anders said, looking at the elven corpses somberly. “Can’t blame them. They’d get better treatment there than the alienage.”

“Where are the Templars and the Chantry?” Hawke asked. “Shouldn’t they be helping the citizens?”

“What are you talking about?” Fenris asked.

“Look, back in Lothering, when things were going bad, the Revered Mother organized the evacuation and there were Templars guarding the village because the Bann’s men had taken all the soldiers to Ostagar. I’m no fan of the Chantry, but they _did help_. But there’s nobody. Everyone’s holed up in their homes.”

“They don’t think they can count on the Chantry,” Anders said.

“Anders, _really_-” Aveline began.

“No, wait, hear me out,” Anders interrupted. “You know as well as I do that the Chantry is entirely absent from Darktown and almost nonexistent in Lowtown. Paupers and refugees are everywhere, to the point that my clinic is the biggest asset these people have. I’ve seen a Chantry sister wandering around Lowtown trying to get donations from prostitutes and workers who could barely afford food. There are no brave Templars and Chantry sisters protecting citizens as they run to the sanctuary of the Chantry, because nobody believes that the Chantry will protect them when they need it.”

“To be fair,” Varric commented, “They have a Magister’s mansion as their stronghold. The Chantry used to be the home of the magister that ruled this place. That’s how things are in Kirkwall.”

The stairs to Hightown had been guarded, but the Hightown market was largely empty, a single Qunari patrol taking civilians prisoner and, in some cases, literally dragging them toward the Keep.

One of the Qunari spotted them. “_Teth a! Bas!_”

The sten in charge went down immediately as Hawke blew him through the decorative iron grating around the Hightown market, leaving the corpse impaled on the bars. The Qunari had two of their mages with them, and they fought for their masters with the same power Hawke had seen before.

“Fenris!” Hawke shouted after being bowled off her feet by one of the saarebas’s spells. “Take out the mages!”

“Gladly,” Fenris growled, casually ducking a lightning bolt and hacking an arm off one of the Qunari mages. His blade came back around as the Qunari staggered from the shock of losing a limb, taking off the mage’s head.

Then the whole world turned upside down, and Hawke found herself on the floor, her vision blurred. The other saarebas was approaching, magical fire in both its hands. It raised its hands for a killing strike, only for the magic to dissipate. It looked at its empty hands, and a sword erupted through its chest. The saarebas fell to its knees, revealing a blonde woman in heavy armor behind it.

The woman casually lopped off the Qunari’s head, before offering a hand to Hawke. “I am Knight-Commander Meredith.” Whatever gratitude Hawke felt for the woman was immediately quashed under fear and disgust. The Templars’s eyes narrowed. “I know you.” Hawke shifted uncomfortably. “The name ‘Hawke’ has shown up in my reports many times. Too many.”

“It’s good that we found you, Knight-Commander,” Aveline said. “The Qunari are-”

“It’s obvious what they’re doing,” Meredith interrupted. “They’re taking people to the Keep and may already be in control. We will need to deal with them.”

“Not that I’m not grateful, but I have my own plans,” Hawke said.

Meredith turned to her, a sneer on her lips. “You think I’m a fool, do you? I saw you using magic.” Ice flooded Hawke’s veins.

“Now isn’t the time,” Aveline said.

“You have one chance and one chance only to prove yourself, apostate,” Meredith snapped. “Do not test me.” Hawke realized the threat – there was nothing stopping Meredith from simply killing Hawke instead of carting her off to the Circle. The only thing stopping her from murdering Hawke on the spot was the greater threat of the Qunari. “Head to the Keep, and I will see if I can find more of my men. These creatures will pay for this outrage.”

“Varric,” Hawke said quietly as Meredith strode off. “Make sure you get Anders and Merrill out of Kirkwall after this is over.”

“Hawke,” Varric started.

“Promise me, Varric,” Hawke pleaded. “Meredith might get me in the Circle, but she’s not taking these two.”

“I promise,” Varric sighed. “All right, Blondie, Daisy, you hear that? I’m responsible for you two, so don’t go getting yourselves killed.”

Someone had erected barricades in a number of streets, and Hawke’s group picked their way through to the square in front of the Keep. Hawke spotted Circle robes on some of the corpses, and the Qunari turned at their approach. With her secret out in the open, Hawke called down a firestorm, scorching the stones of the square and burning the Qunari to death.

The storm died out, and Hawke heard a groan from nearby. There was an elven mage of middling years, sitting up and wiping blood from a gash on his brow. Hawke turned to Anders, slightly dazed. “He’s alive!”

“That’s the First Enchanter,” Anders replied.

Hawke offered him a hand up. “Many thanks, my friend,” the elf said.

Varric nudged Hawke. “He’s the only one. None of the others made it.”

“The others?” the elf’s face fell. “Surely they cannot all be…” He ran to one, grimacing as he rolled the body over and found the chest laid open to the bone, blood soaking the stones beneath the body. “Gone. I told them to run…”

“First Enchanter Orsino,” Meredith called. “You survive.” She was no longer alone, flanked by several Templars.

“Your relief overwhelms me, Knight-Commander,” Orsino said sourly.

“There is no time for talk,” Meredith said. “We must strike back, before it’s too late.”

“And who will lead us into this battle?” Orsino asked. “You?”

“I will fight to defend this city, as I have always done!” Meredith proclaimed.

“To control it, you mean,” Orsino snapped. “I won’t have our lives tossed to the flames to feed your vanity!”

“We need to work together, not kill each other while we figure out who leads,” Hawke interjected.

“Then perhaps _you _should be leading us,” Orsino suggested.

“What?” Meredith squawked. “She’s not even of this city!”

“Neither am I,” Orsino shot back. “Yet I don’t hear you complaining about us both fighting to defend our home.”

Meredith gave them an irritated look. “Whatever you plan, be quick about it.”

“The Qunari’s plans are obvious,” Hawke said. “We need to stay alive long enough to spoil them. Whether that means killing enough Qunari that they can’t maintain control or just taking out the Arishok, we’ll figure out along the way.”

They mounted the steps to the Keep, and Aveline poked her head around the corner. “I don’t see any of my guardsmen,” she reported. “But I do see an awful lot of Qunari.”

“Then they’ve already taken it over,” Meredith said. “Clearly they’ve been planning this for some time.”

“How long they’ve been planning it isn’t really relevant,” Hawke said. “Is there another way into the Keep?” Aveline shook her head. “Then it’s either a head-on assault or drawing them out.”

Orsino smirked. “Allow me. We’ll need to get you inside and catch up as soon as we can.”

“And just how will we do this?” Meredith asked archly.

“Have confidence, Knight-Commander,” Orsino said. He cracked his knuckles as he strode towards the front gate of the Keep. He broke into a run as he passed the gate, and Hawke and her companions hid behind a column, pressing themselves into the shadows. “You will not conquer this city without a fight!” he shouted, fire coalescing around his hands.

“_Saarebas_!” the lead Qunari bellowed. “_Vinek kathas_!” A second later, a massive fireball landed among the Qunari, incinerating two of them and knocking their leader off balance. Orsino threw another fireball, hitting another pair of Qunari as the others broke from their guard position to engage him.

As the Qunari charged, Hawke and her companions pushed themselves deeper into the shadows until they passed, then broke for the door of the Keep.

There were more corpses scattered across the entrance hall, some of them wearing guard plate and others wearing finery or servants’ clothing. One had a spear still lodged in the corpse, and Hawke pulled it free as her companions trailed in behind her. “You think Orsino will make it?” she asked, dropping the spear to the ground.

“You don’t get to be First Enchanter for no reason,” Anders replied. Anything else he could have said was cut off as more Qunari swept down the stairs towards them, their weapons far deadlier at close range. Aveline and Fenris took the lead with Hawke close behind, Hawke knocking the attackers off balance with a blast of force an instant before Aveline and Fenris tore into them, blood splattering the carpets.

They regrouped outside the doors to the throne room, and Hawke took a deep breath to steady herself. Through the doors, muffled, they heard the Arishok shouting. “_Here is your Viscount!_” The screams that followed gave Hawke little hope for Dumar’s survival. “_Look at you. Like fat dathrasi you feed and feed and complain only when your meal is interrupted. You do not look up. You do not see that the grass is bare. All you leave in your wake is misery. You are blind. I will make you see!_”

“We have to get in there,” Aveline said. Hawke nodded, kicking the door open.

The first thing Hawke saw was the Arishok, standing at the top of the stairs leading to the Viscount’s throne. The second thing she saw was the nobility of Kirkwall, cowering under the gaze of several Qunari. The third thing she saw was the severed head of Viscount Dumar laying on the carpet in front of them, mouth open, eyes rolled back in death.

“Well that’s not good,” Hawke murmured.

The Arishok watched them impassively for a moment before he said, “But we have guests.” Slowly, he descended the steps from the throne.

“You can’t take away people’s right to be assholes!” Hawke shouted.

“_Shanedan_, Hawke,” the Arishok said as if he hadn’t just beheaded the leader of a sovereign state. “I expected you.”

“Sorry, I got tripped up over all the corpses of your men back there,” Hawke replied.

The Arishok scowled. “_Maraas toh ebra-shok_. You alone are _basalit-an_.” He looked to the assembled nobles. “This is what respect looks like, bas! Some of you will never earn it!”

“You may respect me,” Hawke replied calmly. “But I have nothing but contempt for you. You claim you wish to end the chaos of this city, but your actions tonight have done nothing but create more unrest. You claim slaughter is wasteful, but your troops slaughtered dozens, if not hundreds on the way here.” Her lip curled disdainfully. “Don’t get me wrong, I understand the stupidity of your actions. You were forced into a task outside your ‘role.’ Had you had the common sense to tell me what it was you were looking for, you could have left this blasted city years ago. Yet you clung to your precious rules because you felt you had to. Because you were _taught_ to. And that’s the mark of a follower, not a leader.” Hawke stood firm, glaring at the giant in front of her. “If you had simply worked with me, you’d be home by now, with your relic in hand, and _nobody would have had to die_. Tell me, Arishok, even if we handed over Isabela – and that’s assuming you would be able to keep her as a prisoner – do you think you would be allowed to continue in your post for what you’ve done here? When word of your assault on Kirkwall spreads, the entirety of Thedas will turn on the Qunari. Your discipline and re-education wouldn’t be able to stop the entire world.” Hawke’s eyes widened. “Unless you don’t expect a lasting success here.”

The Arishok stared her down. “Where is the relic?”

“It’s safe, just like I promised,” Hawke said. “Isabela’s all set to return it, just like _she_ promised. And you’re going to die over it, just like _you _promised. So we’re all women of our word, really.” She paused. “Except for you, who is, in fact, a man. Supposedly.”

“You know I am denied Par Vollen until the Tome of Koslun is returned. How would you see this conflict resolved without it?”

There was a scuffle behind them, and a Qunari went to the floor in a heap. “I believe _I_ can answer that.” Hawke didn’t bother to hide her grin as Isabela swaggered into the room, casually stepping on the fallen Qunari’s back. She shared a glance with Hawke before addressing the Arishok. “I’m sure you’ll find it’s mostly undamaged.” She held out the book that she had searched so long for, and the Arishok took it reverently.

“The Tome of Koslun,” he breathed, looking it over.

“It took me a while to get back, what with all the fighting everywhere,” Isabela apologized. “You know how it is.”

“I knew you’d be back,” Hawke said. “Never doubted you.”

Isabela scowled. “This is your damned influence, Hawke. I was halfway to Ostwick before I knew I had to turn around. It’s pathetic.”

The Arishok nodded, satisfied with his inspection of the tome, before handing it off to a subordinate. “The relic is reclaimed. I am now free to return to Par Vollen – with the thief.”

“What?” Isabela squawked.

“Oh, no!” Aveline cried. “If anyone kicks her ass, it’s me!”

“She stole the Tome of Koslun,” the Arishok insisted. “She must return with us.”

“You have your relic,” Hawke said. “She stays with us.”

“I’m sure he’ll take that well,” Varric muttered. “Rivaini? You might want to move a bit this way.”

“Then you leave me no choice,” the Arishok said. “I challenge you, Hawke. You and I will battle to the death, with her as the prize.”

Isabela shook her head fiercely. “No! If you’re going to duel anyone, duel me!”

“You are not _basalit-an_. You are unworthy.”

“You fight me, you’ll die,” Hawke said flatly. “Arishok, I have no desire to kill you, even after all you’ve done here. You have your relic. Leave.”

The Arishok’s face didn’t so much as twitch. “Not without the thief.”

“In the words of someone I’ve spent far too much time talking to,” Hawke said, leaning forward. “Begone. You are not worthy.”

The Arishok’s lip curled. “If you will not fight me, we will all fight you.”

“Fine,” Hawke said. “I accept your challenge.”

“_Meravas_!” The Arishok bellowed. “So shall it be!”

They faced each other, the Arishok vast and corded with muscle, towering over the slender woman opposing him, the nobles – and the other Qunari – scrambling to get out of the way.

“_Ataash Qunari_!” came the shout, and the duel began.

“I take no pleasure in this,” Hawke said quietly, as the Arishok charged. Then she swatted him on the nose with a blast of concussive force strong enough to stagger a dragon.

And she watched, horrified, as the Arishok kept coming.

She ducked out of the way of the first two strikes from the giant’s equally massive weapons, and managed to parry the next blow from the greatsword that the Arishok used as a one-handed weapon. Then the giant battleaxe came down, and in between sprinting away Hawke found herself briefly wondering if her brother or Fenris were strong enough to even lift a weapon that size without injuring themselves. Spotting the Arishok’s reflection rapidly approaching her in a polished shield mounted on the wall, Hawke spun, ducking low and watching as the battleaxe sheared part of her hair away as it passed over her head. She let a torrent of ice loose as she passed by, the frost crawling up the Arishok’s legs and freezing him to the floor.

He snorted derisively and yanked himself free, only for Hawke to slam a bolt of stone into his chest and knock him flat on his back. Calling up a burst of force magic, she rewrote the laws of nature, watching as the Arishok sluggishly struggled to his feet. She launched a bolus of lightning magic towards the ceiling, watching as bolts struck the area around them.

Hawke strode forward, her staff snapping back and forth, firing off bolts of lightning, fireballs, and bursts of ice as quickly as she could muster the magic. The Arishok’s armor blocked parts of it, but she spotted his flesh blackening under the assault, and she slammed the end of her staff into the stone floor, a crushing blast of force magic slamming the Arishok back down.

Her gravitational spell ran its course, and the Arishok snapped forward, slamming the mage across the room with a charging shoulder to her midsection. Hawke felt most of her innards rattling around as she hit the wall.

“That’s not good,” Hawke coughed, reaching for her belt and yanking an elfroot potion free. Downing it, she felt the pain in her body dull slightly, and she saw the Arishok doing the same. The two stood straighter, and Hawke glared. “We’ll be at this _all day_.”

The two traded blows for what seemed like hours, Hawke ducking, dodging, and parrying as best she could, striking with magic whenever the opportunity presented itself. She had been taught how to fight with a blade and magic by one of the few men who had mastered both, and it showed. But her skill could only match up against the Arishok’s sheer size and strength so much, and more often than not Hawke found herself running or limping around the room with the Arishok in close pursuit, quick and messy healing spells spinning around some freshly-injured part of her body.

“We’ve got to help her,” Merrill declared as Hawke rolled out of the way of a crushing overhand strike from the Arishok.

“Don’t!” Hawke yelled, snapping her staff into the back of the Arishok’s knee. Ripping the blade on the end across the giant’s hamstring, a feral grin twisted her features as he fell to one knee. “Stay back, I got this!” The Arishok lashed out with the massive sword he carried, the edge carving a messy gash across her face and nearly taking her eye out. Hawke screamed, blasting him reflexively with lightning and clapping a hand over the injury, azure light flaring around her hand.

“We have to do _something_,” Aveline urged as the Arishok downed another healing potion, ignoring the flames searing the flesh of his back.

“Aveline, there are fifty qunari in here with us,” Varric replied as Hawke ducked around a column, the Arishok’s battleaxe taking a head-sized chunk out of the stone. “There’s six of us, and all these nobles. It’d be a bloodbath.”

“And if he kills Hawke?” Aveline shot back as Hawke made a rude gesture at the Arishok, watching as he charged.

“Hawke can beat him,” Fenris said suddenly.

“How can you be so sure?” Isabela asked as Hawke sprinted out of the way, running across the narrow room to try and regain some distance.

Fenris looked at her as if the answer were obvious. “I know Hawke.”

Hawke squeaked as she turned around and found the giant Qunari bearing down on her. “This prick isn’t a giant, he’s a blasted mountain with legs!” She charged forward, ducking low and turning as she passed, only to find the back of the Arishok’s battleaxe swinging around, the edge lining up with her midsection.

The blade cleaved through her armored robes and left a deep gash across her gut, and Hawke staggered, nearly dropping her staff. Pumping healing magic into the wound to try to stem the bleeding, she weakly parried another strike, only for the Arishok to throw an elbow and catch her on the jaw. The mage went rolling across the ground, coughing as she came to a halt by slamming into a column and felt two of her ribs come apart. Her staff was roughly halfway between her and the Arishok, and she pushed herself to her feet, scrambling forward as she snagged her dropped staff.

The Arishok was bringing his greatsword down in a final blow as Hawke spun around on one knee, discharging a blast of concussive force directly into the Arishok’s face, snapping his head back and staggering him. Hawke followed up with another blast of force, blowing the Arishok across the room and into one of the great columns holding up the ceiling hard enough to knock dust from the rafters. He slid to the ground, leaning to one side, and Hawke used the momentary respite to charge up a torrent of lightning that she unleashed dead center into the Arishok’s middle. “Go down!” Lightning arced from the Arishok’s lowered blades to the ground, and the giant Qunari spasmed under the assault, and Hawke pushed until she felt her mana begin to run low. She ended the spell as the Arishok’s blades hit the ground, expecting what was left of him to slide to the floor, but the Arishok charged again, slamming her against another column. He backed up, retrieving his weapons, before turning back to her.

“I’m not out yet,” Hawke rasped, pushing herself to a sitting position and drawing up what mana she had left. “Come on, you giant sodding bastard, come and get me if you can!”

The Arishok charged, and Hawke loosed her last spell, catching the Arishok in a prison of crushing force. Blood splattered as his flesh split and bones snapped under the pressure, and Hawke braced her feet against the ground, pushing herself against the column and up. She staggered forward, digging deep for more mana, and tried to hit the Qunari with a bolt of lightning, only for the magic to fizzle out. She stumbled to one side, weaving drunkenly from blood loss and exhaustion, and shook her head, watching as the Arishok collapsed to the floor as the spell ended.

Then the giant gurgled, coughing blood. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” Hawke slurred. “How are you still alive?”

“One day,” the Arishok gasped, pointing at Hawke. “We shall return.”

“The Qunari might. You won’t,” Hawke rasped as the giant fell still. Leaning on her staff, she watched as the remaining Qunari silently left, and Knight-Commander Meredith barreled into the room, Orsino and a pack of Templars close behind.

“Is it…over?” Meredith asked, surprised.

“It’s over,” Hawke coughed.

“The city has been saved!” One of the nobles shouted.

The remaining nobles began cheering, and Meredith’s face twisted. She sheathed her sword, and Hawke could almost hear her teeth grinding. “It seems Kirkwall has a new Champion,” she said, forcing a smile.

“Oh good,” Hawke said lightly. “While you go tell them the good news, I’m going to go have a lie-down.” Hawke staggered off to a quiet corner, nodding to Anders.

“Maker, Hawke, you’re a mess,” Anders muttered as he began healing her various wounds. “After this I have to teach you some proper healing magic.”

“Less talky, more healy,” Hawke gasped.

“The things you do for Kirkwall,” Isabela said, appearing over Anders’ shoulder.

The mage met her eyes. “It wasn’t about them,” Hawke rasped. “I did it for you.”

The pirate flinched, pulling back and out of Hawke’s field of view, and Hawke closed her eyes, letting out a slow breath. Tomorrow might be an unknown, but for right now, she was alive and Kirkwall was safe.

And perhaps that was enough.

—ROTC—

Varric paused in his story. “You seem confused, Seeker.”

“The Champion killed the Arishok in single combat?” Cassandra asked. “It just sounds so…romantic.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you developed a case of hero worship.”

“Why? Because I have respect for a woman who built herself from nothing?” She shook her head. “What you’re saying…_if _you’re telling the truth…what happened at the Gallows may be far different than we assumed. I need to hear it.”

“Let’s say I tell you,” Varric said. “Then what? Are you hunting for an infamous apostate? Is that what this is all about? Or is it revenge?”

“No. It’s not that.”

“Then what about me? If what I tell you isn’t what you want to hear, will you still let me go?”

“I will let you go,” Cassandra promised.

“Well, now we’re talking.”

“None of this is what I thought it would be,” Cassandra admitted. “Tell me what really happened.”

—ROTC—

Word of the victory spread quickly, encouraged by Varric and Isabela, and Hawke woke up the next day to find that not only was she able to continue living openly as an apostate, but was regarded as a hero by the entire city.

Hawke emerged from the estate at noon against Anders’ orders, leaning heavily on her staff, to find that quite a few of the dead bodies were gone. Starting as a quarry, Kirkwall was too vertical for horses and wagons, so men with stretchers and wheelbarrows had been going back and forth all day, gathering the dead, bringing them to the Chantry to be identified, and consigning them to the pyres. A haze of smoke shrouded the city. The mood was somber, but everyone acknowledged that it could have been far worse. There had been looting, of course, but with the Qunari tearing through Lowtown and Hightown most of the criminals had either kept their heads down or lost them to Qunari steel. Darktown had been completely spared any damage from the attack, but the situation there was miserable anyway.

Many lives had been lost, much damage had been done, and yet…life went on. Many of the stands in Hightown were open, ignoring the blood splattered on the flagstones or the odd bit of rubble. People were circulating – hesitantly, warily, but circulating.

Hawke was looking around the Hightown square, watching the people go by, when she heard a voice from behind her. “Hawke! You’re not supposed to be out!”

Hawke turned, smiling broadly. Merrill stood there, a package under one arm. “Merrill. I know, I had to get some air.”

“Well come on, then,” she said, taking Hawke’s hand with her free hand. “Anders said you were supposed to stay in bed and rest, and that’s what you’re going to do! I was just coming to see you.”

“Anders worries like a mother hen,” Hawke sighed. “I’m fine. I won’t be running for my life in Hightown.”

“You always tell me to not strain myself when I’ve been injured,” Merrill replied as they reentered the estate. “Or maybe that was the Keeper. I don’t know. Come on, I’ve got some fresh bread from that stand in Lowtown. Does Bodahn have the kettle on?”

Hawke groaned. “Merrill, you’re too sweet!”

“Nonsense,” Merrill insisted as they entered Hawke’s bedroom. “Now get into bed.”

Hawke found herself bewildered at the sudden switch in who was running things, Merrill disappearing and reappearing with two cups of tea and some bread and butter. The two ate, drank, and talked through the afternoon.

Hawke stood up, brushing crumbs from her lap, limping around the room to stretch her legs. “I keep waiting for Meredith’s goons to come crashing through the front door to drag me off to the Circle. This…Champion business, it might keep her at bay, but I’m afraid.”

“Were you afraid?” Merrill asked quietly, looking down into her mug. “With the Arishok, I mean.”

“Terrified,” Hawke said honestly. “There’s nothing wrong with being afraid. Fear can be a very appropriate response. Courage isn’t being fearless, that’s recklessness. Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway. Courage is being afraid, knowing that at any moment you could die. But getting out there and kicking ass because _that’s what we need to do_.”

“How do you do this, Hawke?” Merrill asked. “How do you lose so much and go out every day with a smile on your face, and help people like me?”

Hawke shrugged. “It’s something to do. Besides, after Bethany, and Carver, and my mother…you, Isabela, the others? You’re all I have left. I can protect you. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

Merrill stood, taking Hawke’s hands in her own. “I couldn’t bear if anything happened to you because of me,” she whispered. “You’re too important to me, Hawke.”

“Nothing will,” Hawke said. “I’ll always be there for you.”

“You can’t promise that,” Merrill said. “I’m dealing with spirits, Hawke, that’s dangerous. I’m using blood magic, _that’s_ dangerous. You fought the Arishok for Isabela, I don’t want you to get mixed up in my messes too.”

“And what if I want to get mixed up in your mess?”

“Don’t save me,” Merrill said tearfully. “Don’t.” Hawke opened her mouth to respond, only to find Merrill’s lips pressed against her own, the elf’s arms wrapping around her neck.

The passion and sheer desperation in the kiss left Hawke stunned, and she could only watch as the elf turned on her heel and ran out the door. A half minute passed as Hawke stood there, blinking, the taste of honey on her lips, before she managed to croak out loud. “What?”

—ROTC—

Hawke found Isabela in her usual spot in the Hanged Man. Varric was nearby, discussing something in low tones with a pair of men. “How have you been?”

“You don’t have to keep checking up on me,” Isabela insisted. “I’m fine.”

“Who said I’m checking up on you?” Hawke asked. “I miss having you around.”

“You don’t need me,” Isabela said. “You’re the Champion of Kirkwall.” She sighed.

“In no small part because of you,” Hawke pointed out. “I’m proud of you for coming back. For doing the right thing.”

“It may have been the right thing, but it was also the dumb thing,” Isabela said. “The relic was mine. I should’ve kept running.”

“I couldn’t have saved Kirkwall without you,” Hawke replied.

“Bullshit,” Isabela scoffed. “You could’ve stormed the Keep and slaughtered all those Qunari if you had to. You and Aveline. I mean, look at her – she’s a woman-shaped battering ram.”

“What’s your point?”

“The fact is,” Isabela said quietly. “You and I have nothing in common anymore. You’re a Champion...and I’m just a lying, thieving snake.”

“Isabela, if you keep that shite up, I’m going to have to fight you. I don’t stand for that from anyone.”

“I…”

“No!” Hawke said. “Shush. Izzy, you’re better than you think you are. You always have been. And I’ll be tarred and feathered before I stand here and watch you put yourself down.”

“I don’t...I don’t do relationships,” Isabela replied.

“Then why are you still wearing this?” Hawke asked, tapping a finger against the red fabric Isabela still had tied around her bicep. “It’s been a while, Izzy. You could have taken it off at any time.”

“It means nothing,” Isabela insisted.

“You care about Kirkwall, and her people,” Hawke said. “As much as you hate to admit it.”

Isabela rolled her eyes. “I didn’t do it for them. I did it for _you_. It was _always_ about you.” She turned, storming off.

“Isabela, wait!” Hawke took a step after her, only for Varric to catch her by the elbow.

“Hawke. She’s not listening to anything anyone says right now.”

Hawke sighed. “I know.”

The next day, Isabela had cooled off enough for Hawke to approach her again.

“Um…Isabela,” Hawke said hesitantly. “Can we talk?”

The pirate knocked back the last of her drink. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

Hawke gave her the quick rundown. Isabela’s face looked more and more shocked as she filled her in. “And…she kissed me,” Hawke finished. “_Really _kissed me. I was so shocked that I couldn’t even react before she ran off. Varric says she’s holed up in her little house in the alienage and won’t come out.”

Isabela sat back. “Well. This is…complicated.”

“I know,” Hawke said, staring at the wood of the table. “Usually the most complicated things I have to worry about are the knots you use in bed and can I stick Varric with the week’s tab. This is…this is new.” She looked up, meeting Isabela’s gaze. “I do care about you, Izzy, but I…I don’t know how I can tell Merrill that I’m tied down, even if you’re not, without hurting her.”

“So don’t tell her,” Isabela said.

Hawke’s jaw dropped. “I couldn’t _not _tell her! Lying to her would be worse!”

“Let me do it, sweet thing,” Isabela said. “I can explain to her that you are hopelessly, helplessly attracted to me, and although you would love to strip her naked and lick jam off various parts of her, you’re already head over heels for me.” She grinned at the way Hawke’s pupils had opened at the mental image, and the mage’s lower lip was between her teeth. “Although maybe I should just lock you two in a room and let you sort it out the fun way.”

Hawke leant forward. “Only if you came along,” she whispered. “And you have maybe a minute before I go find some jam for you.”

“Ooh, tempting,” Isabela said playfully. “And maybe later we can find a prybar and see if we can crank open Fenris’s armor. He’s all pale under there.”

“Well, not all of us sunbathe nude,” Hawke said lightly.

Isabela grinned. “You know, relationships with multiple people _can _work.”

Hawke slumped in her chair. “It feels…greedy.”

Isabela rolled her eyes. “How much longer are you going to deny yourself the things that would make you happy? Really. I’m just trying to plan my day. You care for her. You obviously care for me, or you wouldn’t have fought a Qunari the size of a whale for me.” Isabela gave her a wicked smirk. “We _know _you’re attracted to me. We’ve proven that. Over and over and over again. And she’s clearly attracted to you, and you’ve told me you feel the same way about her.”

“Izzy, _please_,” Hawke moaned, resting her head on the table.

“Oh, you know I love it when you use that tone,” the pirate said with a grin. “I happen to care about her, I know she cares about me. If something blossoms there, so be it. If not…well, we both have you, Hawke. That’s what counts.”

The Champion sighed in defeat. “It just feels strange.”

“You’re a free mage in a place known as the City of Chains and one of the most popular people in the city,” Isabela pointed out. “Your closest friends involve an escaped elvish slave who can pull a man’s balls out without breaking the skin, a dog who can play Diamondback, a possessed apostate, a Dalish blood mage, _me_, and a dwarf with no beard. I don’t count Aveline, she’s the only one of us who’s even approaching normal. ‘Strange’ has no bearing on this discussion.”

“So…how do we convince _her_, then? I don’t know much about the Dalish, but I’m pretty sure relationships like that aren’t very common.”

Another wicked grin spread across Isabela’s face. “I have a few ideas.”

“Without tying her up,” Hawke added.

“All right, a few less ideas, but they could still work!”

“You’re the only person I know who would say ‘we’ll play it by ear’ when referring to a threesome.”

—ROTC—

The official celebration of Kirkwall’s victory over the Qunari was, to say the least, awkward: a banquet held by Knight-Commander Meredith, attended by nobles not only from Kirkwall but also Orlais, Ferelden, and other cities in the Marches.

There was a great deal of drinking, dancing, and loud conversation, but it was clear that neither Meredith or Hawke wanted anything to do with it. Hawke would have been happy with quietly working behind the scenes to better things in Kirkwall as long as it meant avoiding being revealed as a mage, and Meredith would rather set herself on fire than express gratitude to a mage, let alone place one into such a powerful position as Champion. But short of killing each other, neither one had any way out of the situation.

Hawke was officially thanked, granted the position of Champion of Kirkwall, and given a new set of robes to befit her position. Nobles fawned over her, when before they wouldn’t have deigned to speak to her. When she finally managed to escape, it had begun to sink it that she and hers were, for the first time, practically untouchable.

—ROTC—

“So,” Hawke asked, tracing a pattern on the skin of Isabela’s back. “What’s he like?”

“Who?”

“Fenris. He as broody in bed as he is out and about?”

Isabela sniggered. “Hardly. He’s certainly not a cold fish. Someone so angry, you’d think he would be aggressive and rough in bed, and he is, a little. But in a way, he’s like you. Shy in many ways. I got the feeling he hasn’t been with anyone in a long time. Shame, really, considering.”

Hawke quirked an eyebrow. “Considering what?”

“Considering he could use what’s between his legs as a bludgeon if he lost his greatsword,” Isabela said saucily. “It’s a deep conversation to have. It can be a lot to take in. He can touch you on a deep level.”

“He’s well-endowed, I get it,” Hawke interrupted.

“He makes horses feel inadequate, is what I’m saying,” Isabela finished. She planted a kiss on Hawke’s neck. “Want to try something new?”

“Sure!”

—ROTC—

Hawke went slack against the ropes, trembling as aftershocks wracked her body. “All right, you win,” the mage rasped. “Rope play. Totally worth the effort.”

“Told you so,” Isabela purred from between Hawke’s legs, not removing the silk blindfold that was covering Hawke’s face. “You still got feeling in your hands and feet?”

“The tingling is still there, yes,” Hawke said happily, wriggling her toes and clenching her fingers. “So how do we get me down from here?”

There was a brief pause, before Isabela replied. “_We_ don’t get you down.” The pirate was speaking with her playful ‘I’m about to start trouble’ voice, and Hawke’s head snapped up, despite the blindfold.

“What?”

“I’m not untying you just yet. Someone else will. She’ll be along shortly.”

“Isabela, I swear by all that is holy, if you send Aveline in here again I will hunt you down and spank your bronzed buttcheeks red!” There was a long pause as Hawke waited for an answer. “Isabela?”

There was another pause. “Yes, Hawke?”

Hawke sighed out a breath. “Don’t scare me like that. I thought you’d left.”

“I’m quiet, but I’m not _that _quiet, sweet thing. Don’t worry. You’ll like who I send.”

“You’re not going to just leave me here like this!”

“Oh, but I am,” Isabela said playfully, planting a light kiss on Hawke’s lips. “You need this, Hawke.”

Hawke bit the rogue’s lip playfully. “You better hope I don’t find you after this.”

“You won’t,” Isabela snorted. “Have fun!” The door to Hawke’s bedroom shut behind her, and she could hear Isabela’s boots descending the steps on the way out.

Then she heard footsteps on the stairs up to her room, and her heart began pounding in her chest. She could feel goosebumps spreading across her skin, the bedroom suddenly feeling cold despite the lit fire and the vigorous workout she had had with Isabela. “Maker, please don’t let it be Aveline again…”

The door creaked open slightly. “Hawke?”

Hawke’s heart stopped.

_She hadn’t_.

“Are you in there?”

She had.

“Er...yes, I am.”

The door opened, and she heard two more footsteps. “Isabela said you needed my help with something, so I – _Oh, Creators_! Hawke, I’m so sorry, I can come back later, I’ll just–”

“Merrill, Merrill, wait! Don’t go!”

“But…Hawke, you’re _naked_.”

Hawke burst out laughing, shaking against the ropes. “I’m aware of that, Merrill.”

“Why are you naked? Why are you tied up? Were…” Merrill gasped, stepping farther into the room. Hawke heard the door click shut. “Were you and Isabela in here together?”

—ROTC—

Meanwhile, across town, Varric was talking to Aveline. “Hawke and Merrill? I don’t see it.” Varric raised an eyebrow, and suddenly Aveline’s eyes widened. “Oh, Maker, now I see it.” Varric smirked. “Varric, I can’t stop seeing it.”

—ROTC—

The two collapsed in a sweaty pile of limbs, and Hawke squirmed around, sliding her palm along the line of Merrill’s jaw before pulling the elf into a tired kiss.

“That was amazing,” Merrill said, panting lightly.

“That’s putting it lightly,” Hawke giggled, planting a kiss on Merrill’s sweaty temple before pulling the elf close against her chest.

“So are we…what does this mean?” Merrill asked.

“We may have to do that a couple more times to get the meaning,” Hawke replied with a grin, wiping the back of her hand against her mouth.

There was a moment’s pause before Merrill’s lips twitched. “I love you,” she blurted out. Hawke’s face softened, and Merrill went on. “I probably shouldn’t have said that, should I? I always say the stupidest things…”

Hawke sat up. “Merrill, I’ve been doing my level best to show you how I feel about you. But I don’t know where…this,” she said, gesturing between the two of them, “will go. I mean, I’m…Isabela and I…well, she probably wouldn’t have a problem with it, so long as you didn’t get hurt, at which point she would skin me, but that’s not the point because I would never do anything to hurt you, but…” she trailed off at the look Merrill was giving her.

“Is that what I sound like when I ramble?” Merrill asked. “No wonder you think I’m cute.”

“I’m a bit confused about all this,” Hawke admitted, running a hand through her sweaty hair. “I don’t know if Isabela is trying to push us together because she’s afraid of things getting too serious between her and me, or if she just wanted me to get my feelings about you out in the open. And Merrill, I don’t…I don’t ever want to hurt you. I care about you too much. But I don’t know what move to make that won’t hurt someone.”

“Well then,” Merrill said quietly. “Maybe you shouldn’t make any move? We could just see where things go from here. I mean, I love you. And I think…I think I love Isabela, too. You’re both so beautiful and clever, and Isabela does foolish things sometimes but she means well, she really does, and you never make any mistakes, and I…I don’t deserve either of you.”

“Whoa, now, who never makes any mistakes?” Hawke asked. “I distinctly recall having to ship my little brother off to the Grey Wardens because I dragged him along on a trip to the Deep Roads, where I mistakenly trusted a greedy backstabbing dwarf who left us for dead. And that’s just one incident.” She cupped the elf’s face and planted a kiss on her tattooed forehead. “I’m not some sort of goddess, Merrill.”

“But I…I…” Merrill’s half-hearted protests were cut off as Hawke kissed her again. “Oh, Creators, when you do that my mind just goes blank.”

“I’ll have to do that more often, then,” Hawke said. “I love you too, Merrill. When are you moving in?”

Merrill blinked owlishly. “Moving in?”

Hawke nodded. “I was thinking of scandalizing the neighbors. I’m already sleeping with a pirate, I think I could double my money by having my Dalish lover move in. What do you think?”

Merrill sat up abruptly. “Here, in Hightown, the rich fancy part of the city with no rats in it? And you…with an elf?” Hawke shrugged. “_Ma vhenan_, you really are crazy, aren’t you?”

“It’s a crazy world,” Hawke replied. “What do you say?”

Merrill brightened. “If you’re not scared, neither am I.”

—ROTC—

Several months later, Hawke and Varric were in the Hanged Man again. “So how are you doing, Hawke?” Varric asked. The gash on Hawke’s face, tended by Anders, had faded to a thin scar. The cut across her abdomen had healed a touch more ragged, but Hawke had considered herself lucky to have survived the fight at all. Varric had come through the entire invasion with barely a scratch, the lucky little bastard.

“I’m...I’m all right,” she replied after a pause. “I mean, that house is too quiet, even with Merrill having moved in. I haven’t bought my own drinks in four months, so that’s nice. I’m still worried that they’re just waiting to drag me off to the Circle, especially with Meredith stepping into the Viscount’s shoes to ‘keep order’, but there’s not a lot I can do about it now.”

Varric looked up at his closest friend and shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Hawke.”

“Not in the slightest,” Hawke replied brightly.

“Really. Rivaini _and _Daisy?”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Jealous, Varric?”

Varric snorted out a laugh. “No, no, thank you. I just don’t want to see any of you hurt, Hawke.”

“I might have preferred someone a little shorter, but he was never interested.”

Varric grinned. “Oh, you wound me, Hawke. But it’s bad form to sleep with the subject of the story you’re writing. Too narcissistic.”

“Varric, don’t ever tell any of the others…but you’re my favorite.”

“So how are things with Daisy and Rivaini?”

“They aren’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because we aren’t...We haven’t gotten to...there’s been a lot of…” She gave him an exasperated glare. “Look, fuck off. I tell you everything, or almost anyway. We play separately.”

“All three of you are with each other?” Varric asked.

“Well, right about now…”

—ROTC—

Isabela had arranged herself on the bed, somehow mixing displaying acres of soft dusky skin with appearing entirely casual.

“Hawke, I’m here, I heard something was wron–” Merrill squeaked as she found Isabela laying naked on Hawke’s bed. “Isabela! I’m sorry!” She turned on her heel to leave.

“Don’t go,” Isabela said softly. Merrill paused, and Isabela patted the bed next to her. “Come here.” It seemed to take an eternity for Merrill to make it across the room. “Sit down.” Merrill hesitated, and Isabela sat up. “Please, Kitten?”

“I...are you sure?”

Isabela blinked at her. “If I weren’t, would I have gotten you in here like this?”

“But you and Hawke–” Merrill squeaked again as Isabela cut her off by pulling her into a deep kiss.

“Hawke knows, and she’s all right with it,” Isabela breathed when they came up for air. “Besides, you and she already–” Isabela purred into Merrill’s mouth as the elf tackled her onto the bed.

—ROTC—

“If I know Isabela – and I do – things are probably getting resolved as we speak.”

“I don’t think I want to know how,” Varric said.

“Yes, you do,” Hawke replied with a knowing smirk. “But later, here comes Fenris.”

“I’ll get us another round,” Varric offered, standing up as Fenris sat down.

“I got you something,” Hawke said, digging in her satchel. “Here. I figured you might like it.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “It’s…a book.”

“It’s a subject you’re familiar with,” Hawke prodded. “The book is by Shartan, the elf who helped Andraste free the slaves. You know about him, right?”

“A little,” Fenris said hesitantly. “It’s just…slaves are not permitted to read. I’ve never learned.”

Hawke’s jaw dropped. As the child of a Circle mage and a former noble, her parents had been well-educated and had made sure she, Bethany, and Carver had all learned to read fluently. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” She tilted her head. “You know, it’s not too late to learn.”

“Isn’t it? Sometimes I wonder.” Fenris shrugged. “I don’t mean to seem ungrateful. I do appreciate the thought. I’ve always wanted to learn more of Shartan. Perhaps this is my chance.”

“I could teach you,” Hawke offered. “Or at least try. I’ve never taught anyone to read before, I might be rubbish at it.”

Fenris smiled. Not the quick, here-and-gone smirk he gave Varric when the dwarf landed a good joke, but a genuine smile. “I say it’s worth a try.”

—ROTC—

“Is that mine?” Hawke asked, fingering the blue shift Merrill was wearing.

“It was,” the elf replied.

In response, Hawke spun Merrill around, pressing her against the wall. Hawke’s hands slid up the elf’s slight frame as the Champion’s breath warmed her neck. “There anything else of mine you happen to be wearing?”

“Why don’t you take a look and find out?”

—ROTC—

Cassandra shook her head, interrupting Varric’s story. “You’ve been wasting my time, Varric,” she snapped. “It stops now.”

“Seeker, you wound me.”

“The Champion nearly starts a war and you’re all too happy to bury it beneath your words. You will tell me about the Qunari.”

Varric’s poker face didn’t budge. “What’s left to say? The Arishok was killed and a Champion crowned.”

“And yet we had Orlesians threatening sanctions of every kind and measure! What happened at Chateau Haine? _What happened with Tallis?_”

Now Varric’s eyes widened. “You’ve heard about her?”

“We had someone there, but they lacked your access. Whatever Tallis was to the Champion, it seems like it angered a nation.”

“Thousands of lives were at stake, Seeker.”

“Perhaps one still is,” Cassandra said darkly.

“Nicely nonspecific,” Varric muttered. “All right, let me set the scene: an ambush, an invitation, a hunting party. All because of Tallis.”

—ROTC—

They were in the Hightown market that night, the square deserted except for them. “And of course, there’s no one,” Hawke sighed. Anders, Merrill, Isabela, Varric, and Fenris were with her. Aveline was busy on her honeymoon and Sebastian hadn’t been invited.

“All I know is it had something to do with you and nobles,” Varric said. “Edge is usually very reliable.”

“That’s what you get for listening to someone named Edge,” Isabela chimed in.

“This is normally when we’re ambushed,” Fenris mused, looking around warily.

“Why?” Varric asked defensively. “It’s not always an ambush.”

Men dropped from the nearby balcony and the rooftops, drawing weapons.

“All right, maybe sometimes it’s an ambush,” Varric conceded.

“And there is the Champion of Kirkwall,” the mercenary leader said. His accent was Orlesian, but the armor the men wore was common Kirkwall make. “You die today.”

A dagger thudded into his shoulder, and Hawke traced the trajectory back, seeing a redheaded elf standing on the rooftop. She leapt from the rooftop as an archer loosed at her, the arrow zipping past her head as she bounced off an awning and pounced on the offending archer. She sank one dagger into his side, twisting him around as the archer reflexively loosed his next shot into a nearby mercenary’s head.

Another archer’s arrow thudded into her shield’s head, and the elf drew another throwing dagger, lobbing it overhand and sinking it into the archer’s throat. The man fell from the rooftop, clutching the knife in his neck, and the elf ripped her dagger free, parrying a strike from a swordsman and slashing his throat open. She kept moving, slitting another mercenary’s throat and kicking him off the balcony, before following closely with a one-handed vault over the balcony as a mercenary with a maul attempted to crush her. She landed on the fallen mercenary’s corpse, rolling forward and ducking under a battleaxe swing, laying open the attacker’s stomach as she passed by and slashing across his kidneys for good measure. Two more mercenaries met a sticky end as the elf carved her way toward the leader, Hawke and her companions watching bemusedly as the elf darted between them and held her dagger to the leader’s throat, her other hand wrapping around the hilt of the dagger in his shoulder.

“Kill her!” The leader shouted. “Kill all of them!” The elf slit his throat, ripping her other dagger free as the corpse dropped.

The elf turned to Hawke. “Well? What are you waiting for?” She asked breathlessly.

Things dissolved into chaos at once. “Who the blazes is _that_?” Hawke shouted above the fighting.

“Don’t know!” Varric called back. “Kill people, then ask!”

“Good plan!” The elf agreed, casually murdering another mercenary.

The bloodshed resolved fairly quickly, considering the elf had killed almost half of the attackers before Hawke and her companions got involved.

“I _like _you,” Hawke said, eyeing the carnage Tallis had wrought.

“Hawke,” Varric groaned. “Please, don’t recruit another one. I think we’re full up on insane killers. Between Blondie, Broody, and Daisy, we may be at crazy capacity.”

“But…she’s cute,” Hawke objected.

“If you must,” Varric sighed. “Just don’t be surprised when she drags you into a mess.”

“Who were these people?” Hawke asked, kicking one of the bodies out of her way.

“Sloppy,” the elf answered, strolling amongst the corpses. “You’d think the Crows would be better at this. They’ve been doing it for ages.”

“These were Antivan Crows?” Hawke asked incredulously, looking at Varric. “The _Crows _want a piece of me now?”

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Varric said with a shrug. “I’m not the one who slapped the Qunari around like a naughty puppy.”

Hawke sighed, shaking her head and turning her attention back to the elf. “Interesting entrance. You have some fine moves.”

The elf smirked. “I do, don’t I?”

“I appreciate your help,” Hawke said.

“I doubt you needed it, but you’re quite welcome. My name is Tallis, and I’ve been looking for you.”

“I’m not exactly hard to find,” Hawke said. “Most people just send a letter. They always seem to arrive when I’m not home, though. You were looking for me why, exactly?”

“Because you can get me into Chateau Haine.”

“Chateau…Haine?” Hawke gave her a baffled look. “Do I look Orlesian to you?”

“Oh, _that’s_ what Edge was on about,” Varric said. “You remember. Duke Prosper, the one who fawned all over you at the Champion of Kirkwall banquet. He talked about a hunt.”

“Pretend I have any idea what you’re talking about and go on.”

“A wyvern hunt,” Varric clarified. “Prosper’s got a chateau out in the Vimmarks.”

“The duke is a delightful host, or so I hear,” Tallis chimed in.

“I’m guessing this isn’t just a social call?” Hawke said.

“I need to relieve him of something he has no right to possess, and I can’t do it alone,” Tallis said.

“You want to rob him.”

“Stealing from Orlesians is never wrong,” Varric offered. “Or so I’ve been told.”

“I told you that,” Isabela said. “And I was right.”

“This isn’t how I was planning to ask you this,” Tallis said sheepishly. “I was picturing an introduction with…less blood.”

“What makes you think I steal things just because people ask me to?” Hawke asked.

“Well I would,” Isabela said.

“That’s our Isabela,” Fenris deadpanned. “Such a giver.”

“I may have talked you up a bit,” Varric admitted. “Maybe more than once.”

“Oh, Varric.”

“What? You’d rather I told everyone you were a mage?”

“All I’ve heard is you get things done,” Tallis said. “I’m hoping that’s true.”

Hawke shrugged. “I have built a reputation for competence, I suppose. All right, come on. Let’s get out of here before the guards show up and we spend all night filling out paperwork.”

“Don’t forget to loot the bodies!” Isabela called.

“Do I ever?”

“Do you really need to pillage the dead?” Tallis asked with more than a touch of distaste.

“Need to? No. Want to since they attempted to murder me? Yes.”

A few minutes later, they were in the sitting room of Hawke’s estate, Ser Wagtail sniffing excitedly at Tallis’s hand and hoping for scratches. “So tell me, what exactly is it you want to steal?” Hawke asked.

“A…jewel,” Tallis said with a moment’s hesitation. “The duke thinks it’s valuable, and it is, just not in the way he believes. What’s more, he shouldn’t have it in the first place. He who wishes to walk on water must first learn to swim.” Hawke raised an eyebrow, and Tallis went on hurriedly. “Come with me to Chateau Haine. I’ll explain everything on the way. If nothing else, you get fine wine and fancy company. But…I hope you want more than that.”

Hawke nodded. “All right. We’ll set out tomorrow morning. We might as well take everyone along, if we’re going to be hunting wyverns we shouldn’t dick about. Varric, can you tell Sebastian and have him meet us at the city gate?”

“Sure thing.”

“Good. Now.” She pulled her chair closer to the table. “Tell me about this jewel.”

“It’s called the Heart of the Many,” Tallis explained.

“Interesting name.”

“Interesting jewel. All I care about is getting it away from the duke. Here’s the problem: the Heart is in a vault, behind who knows what kind of traps, protected by a private army of Orlesian chevaliers, all inside a fortress that was designed to be impregnable. And let’s not forget that it’s on the side of a mountain, in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by monsters.”

Hawke paused. “All right, that sounds fairly simple.”

—ROTC—

Chateau Haine was more of a fortress, judging by the high stone walls and the thick gate. Attempts had been made to make it look more Orlesian, but the low-slung defensive fortification-style of the construction were hard to disguise.

Hawke, her companions, and Tallis were approaching the main gate, where the rest of the hunting parties were waiting. “Andraste’s tears, Prosper!” An Orlesian in a gilt mask was saying. “When is this going to get started?”

Duke Prosper was a man of middling years, wearing a peaked helmet that came down over his hooked nose. His beard was divided into two points, but it was easy to tell he was dressed more for a party than a hunt. “Presently! All right, everyone. You all know the tradition, yes? The first to find and slay a wyvern wins the honors of the evening! And bragging rights, of course. Good luck to you all!”

Hawke tried to approach Prosper, only for the man’s bodyguard to stand in her way. The bodyguard loomed over her, the tattoos on his dark skin standing out in the noon sun. “I’m here to see the duke. By invitation. Would you tell him I’ve arrived?”

“Ah, the Champion of Kirkwall!” Prosper called. “These are honored guests!” The bodyguard stared at her a moment longer, before moving away and taking up position behind Prosper. “Please excuse Cahir. A polite bodyguard is a contradiction in terms, or so I am told.”

“A Chasind?” Hawke said, recognizing the origin of the name. “Here?”

“Ah yes, you are Fereldan, aren’t you? You would know of his people.”

“They traded in Lothering sometimes,” Hawke said. “My family never had a problem with them.”

“See that, Cahir?” Prosper jibed. “Now you have someone to speak to!” Cahir remained silent. “He’s so very chatty, let me tell you.” He eyed Tallis a moment. “And who is this lovely specimen?”

“You flatter me, Your Grace,” Tallis replied.

“I must say, I didn’t really expect you,” Prosper admitted. “I already have an Amell, you see. Or a Hawke, I suppose it is.” He looked off to one side, and Hawke’s jaw dropped.

“Carver?”

Carver glanced over, his eyes widening. “Dana?”

“A Grey Warden, no less,” Prosper went on. “No doubt ensuring I don’t accidentally cure their Blight business. Perhaps you should join forces, to avoid any appearance of collaboration between parties.”

“I think that would be for the best, Duke,” Carver agreed.

“At any rate, I won’t keep you from the hunt! Wouldn’t want you to fall behind the others, yes?”

“I’ve fought a few smaller dragons, but I don’t think I’ve ever encountered a wyvern before,” Hawke said.

“And why would you? They are exceptional beasts, magnificent cousins to the mighty dragon! My only advice? Avoid their poison. It’s the deadliest thing about them, as well as the most valuable.” At Hawke’s questioning look, Prosper smirked. “From it can be brewed aquae lucidus, a libation adored even by the Empress herself.”

“Sounds like an interesting refreshment,” Hawke said. “Shall we?”

“Good luck to you, my lady,” Prosper said. “Remember, fortune favors the bold.”

—ROTC—

_Mantle of the Champion  
Champion: an honor unique to the Free Marches. Other terms of reverence suffer the stains of their holders, the lingering baggage of office and entitlement. But champion is not an appointment that can be sought. It cannot be owned or willed, and the process by which it is bestowed is not argued through policy or guile. It is earned with blood and sweat and leadership in times of great turmoil. Always worthy, as their deeds are of true importance, a champion is greeted not by debate, but by nods of reverence._

_The title was most recently granted in Tantervale, 8:82 Blessed, on the resolution of the bloody expansion of Nevarra. Their king, emboldened by the taking of Perendale and the quick yielding of Hasmal, thought the remainder of the Free Marches as easy claim. He who became the Champion. Cade Arvale of Rivain, did what Orlais had not: He stopped a nation in its tracks. There was blood and barter, but Tantervale is still free against all odds._

_There is the contradiction of the honor. Champion is not itself a sign of approval. He or she can be respected or feared, their coming dreaded as much as desired. All that is common is that they have an effect and lives are changed._

_Kirkwall now adds to the history of the title, a first for the city, on this 9:34 Dragon. The Qunari are repelled by means respected or reviled, and it remains to be seen what follows for this Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall._

_—From The Champion: History, Ancient and Current, excerpted by Philliam, a Bard!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	19. Mark of the Assassin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke hunts the wyvern, a revelation, and a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Wyvern  
The wyvern—like its relative the dragon—has nearly been hunted to extinction. Wealthy Orlesians are particularly fond of the wyvern chase, although their servants and dogs take the risks while the nobleman merely accept the praise._

_It is the venom that makes the creature so valuable. It's used in potion-making, alchemy, and the production of a rare and potent liquor called aquae lucidius. The minuscule quantity of the venom remaining in the aquae after distillation leads to a unique hallucinatory effect._

_Testimonies from a few of those fortunate enough to sample the costly concoction:_

_"I feel confused but happy!"_

_"It was as though my soul took wing and floated about my head."_

_"I had a vision of my great-grandmother and found it oddly arousing."_

_"I can see through time!"_

—ROTC—

Before heading to the hunting grounds, Hawke paused to speak to the chateau’s hunting master. “I am Gabriel. You have come a long way to join our duke, serah,” the man said. “You’ll pardon me for saying that you do not seem like a hunter.”

“Not of wyverns, no,” Hawke admitted. “But I’ve handled demons, spiders, dragons, and darkspawn well enough. What risks does hunting a wyvern entail?”

“Many,” Gabriel said. “They are fearsome creatures, large and fierce. Their most dangerous aspect, however, is their venom. They spit it, you see, and their victims suffer terrible pain before they die.”

“Death is always the result, then?”

“Depending on exposure, it may take days, but yes, death is always the outcome if the poison isn’t treated.”

“I doubt the duke’s trying to get his guests killed,” Hawke remarked. “I’m guessing there’s a trick to learn? And presumably, a treatment for the poison?”

“There are many tricks. It is best not to face the beasts head-on. Flank them. Blind them, if you can. As for the antidote? A distillation of herbs – equal parts drakevein, Andraste’s Mantle, and winterberry. They are not rare herbs – all of them can be found growing in the hunting grounds.”

“Thank you.”

“May the Maker’s luck grace your hunt. Be safe, serah.”

As they made their way down the trail to the hunting grounds, Hawke nudged Carver. “So what brings a Grey Warden out here?” she asked. “I can’t imagine why the Wardens would care about a fop and his... his...”

“Utter waste of ability and time?”

Hawke nodded emphatically. “Yes!”

Carver shrugged. “He toys with big beasties. Who knows what he'll flush out of the dark? It's light duty. Can't lie about that. Beats rooting around in the Deep Roads.”

“Fair enough,” Hawke said.

He tilted his head, looking at her closer. “What happened to your face?”

“The Arishok,” Hawke replied. “Nearly took my eye out.” She drew a finger along her jawline. “Picked up a new scar or two yourself. You still not wearing helmets?” Carver grinned. “Either way, it’s good to see you.”

“You too. You’ve picked up a new one.” He nodded at Tallis. “You got a name?”

“I’m Tallis,” came the reply. “So you're Hawke's brother.”

Carver smirked. “We still admit that, on occasion.”

“But you're on good terms.”

Carver shrugged. “This second? I suppose so. The day's young, though.”

“We're fine,” Hawke said. “Just... different. He’s my brother, and nothing will ever change that. As much as he’d like to sometimes.”

“I’ve forgiven her for most things.”

“Even the-”

“I said _most _things,” Carver repeated loudly. “Not that.” Hawke grinned impishly, and Tallis shook her head.

Fenris nudged him. “You're Fereldan-born, aren't you?”

Carver nodded. “Yes, we were.”

“I understand Fereldans have a certain... animosity with Orlais.”

“It seems a small concern in light of other things,” Carver replied. “I've met a few. Nice people. Not like this lot.”

“The excess does seem... excessive.”

“People get bitter about being conquered and oppressed. We didn't get many Orlesians in Lothering. I just think they talk funny.”

“And here I remember you mooning over that red-headed lay sister with the accent,” Hawke interjected.

Carver smiled faintly. “She was nice, wasn't she?”

“Sister…Leliana, wasn’t it?” Hawke teased.

“Leliana?” Isabela frowned. “A redhead? Orlesian accent?”

“You knew her?” Carver asked.

“I…suppose?” Isabela paused. “How many redheaded Orlesian ladies named Leliana could there be in Ferelden? I don’t remember her being a lay sister, though.”

“Well, I’m glad she made it out of Lothering, at least,” Carver said. “You didn’t…”

“Oh, no, not with her,” Isabela said. “Not that I’d have minded.”

They crested a hill, and Tallis nodded. “So these are the hunting grounds.”

“Do we need a lure?” Isabela asked. “What do wyverns like?”

“Other wyverns,” Fenris deadpanned.

Varric shook his head. “So I take it we run around randomly, shouting ‘here, wyvern wyvern wyvern!’”

“We just need to look for signs, and be careful. We get this over with, we get into the keep.”

“And that’s where the jewel is. Well, as long as we’re out here, we may as well hunt the blasted wyvern,” Hawke said. “You think any of these idiots stand a chance of bagging one?”

They passed a pair of Orlesians talking. “I’ve heard wyverns roost in the trees,” one said. “Perhaps if we shook them?”

“Not a prayer,” Carver replied. “Let’s do this.”

“You want to just stand back and watch?” Varric said. “Should be good for a few laughs.”

“Just how long has this wyvern hunt been going on?” Hawke asked as they climbed a trail.

“It's an annual tradition the Montforts began to keep the population down,” Tallis explained. “They breed quickly.”

“And the Orlesian nobility is only too happy to help out?”

“It's a game. The Montforts are close to the empress, so anything that pleases them is worth pursuing. Plus you should really try the aquae lucidius. You'll be seeing purple dragons in the sky for days.”

“And you'll be completely useless the whole time,” Carver added.

“I don't even want to ask how you know,” Hawke sighed.

“Forty crowns a bottle on the black market,” Varric said. “Not that I've checked or anything.”

They encountered a handful of dragonlings in the brush, and a fast, bloody fight ensued. “Which of these lizards do we drag back to the duke so we can get to the drinking?” Isabela asked, wiping blood off her face.

“Do dragons and wyverns even mix?” Tallis said. “I don’t think so.”

“You think if we drop part of this in the right spot, we might lure a wyvern out to protect its territory?”

“I think it’s a fair chance,” Tallis said. “You want a leg, or a wing?”

They cut a wing away from one of the dead dragonlings, bringing it along with them.

“Would you tell your uncle to leave me alone?” Isabela asked. “He’s often…inappropriate.”

“How so?” Hawke asked.

“Please don’t make me go into the details.”

Hawke frowned. “If he’s making _you _uncomfortable…I’ll see what I can do. And thank you for not breaking his legs.”

“I don’t beat on the elderly. And…I really don’t want to touch him. How are you two even related?”

They came across an altar with a skeleton laying atop it. “That altar is very old,” Tallis remarked. “And creepy. I wouldn’t touch it.”

“I’m not going to,” Hawke said. “I know better than to poke things I don’t understand with a stick.”

They followed the trail down the hill, finding a pool of fresh blood. “You think this is from prey, or the wyvern itself?”

“I’ve heard they fight for dominance,” Tallis said. “Can’t be gentle.”

“Maybe we can use some to draw one out.” They worked as much of the blood as they could into a flask. “We could probably lure one out with this.”

Tallis nodded. “A little one, sure, probably all we need. In the right spot, no doubt.”

At the bottom of the hill, a hunter was shouting into the woods. “Nicodemus! Sylvain! Here boys!” He turned as Hawke’s party approached. “Have you seen a pair of coursers? I’ve been calling and calling, but it is no use. Nicodemus should know better, but Sylvain never had an ounce of sense in his head.”

“You’ve lost your hounds?”

The hunter nodded. “They took off after a stag, and the Maker only knows where they’ve gotten to now.”

“If I see your dogs, I’ll let you know,” Hawke promised.

They looped around through the hunting grounds again, past another pack of hunters.

Tallis glanced over again. “So, Champion of Kirkwall? Fancy title.”

Hawke shrugged. “Not that fancy. The ‘Only One in Kirkwall not Completely Insane’ was considered, but they went with ‘Champion.’”

“So do you get a stipend?” Tallis asked. “They let you rule the city?”

“I'm not sure someone _can_ rule that city,” Hawke said.

A shout came from ahead as Anders knelt, picking some drakevein. “I think we’ve found something!” A hunter ran up to his compatriot. “We’ve a hint of the beast! After it!”

They followed the hunters at a respectable distance. “There is…something in there,” one of the hunters said, looking into a hole in the ground. “A nest, perhaps?” He cried out as a tiny creature leapt from the hole onto his chest, falling back. The creature bore a crude spear, which it lodged in the man’s neck a moment later. The fallen man’s fellow hunter turned to run, but was brought down by another of the creatures a moment later.

“What are these things?” Hawke shouted as more of them flooded from the hole. She crushed two of them with a blast of force, but more had already taken their place. Merrill flung a fireball into the hole, body parts and smoke belching from the cave exit as Fenris and Carver cut through the creatures already attacking them.

“Ghasts,” Tallis called, spearing one on her daggers. “Cave creatures.”

Anders called down a blizzard, freezing most of the remaining ghasts in place, and the others set to smashing them into pieces. “They don’t come out on the surface much,” Tallis remarked as they cleaned their blades of the creatures’ blood. “The hunt must have drawn them out.”

“Not the worst thing to run into underground,” Carver said.

Isabela was snickering. Hawke glanced over. “What is it now?”

Isabela bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “Ghast hole.”

“A scholar might call it something else, but they don't know their ghasts from a hole in the ground,” Varric added.

“And they say I'm the monster,” Anders sighed as Carver laughed and Isabela kept snickering.

“Why do you bad-touch words like that?” Hawke groaned, shaking her head as they followed the trail past the ghast holes. “Really!” She stopped short, looking at the nearly-naked man standing in front of them. “Really?”

“Oh, Blessed Andraste, thank you! I thought I’d die out here,” the man said. “I’ve been trapped here since last night!”

“I know I’m going to regret this, but why are you standing out here in your smallclothes?”

“Ghasts were chasing me,” the man explained. “I thought I could leave false trails. Truth told, I’m not looking for the wyvern. I’m a scholar from Cumberland, researching an Avvar cult that once lived here.”

“Well, we found an Avvar-ish and very creepy and probably haunted shrine back that way,” Hawke said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. “You should probably head back to the chateau.”

“I will try,” the scholar said. “Good luck to you, serah.”

They backtracked, Anders pointing out some Andraste’s Mantle as Hawke turned at the sound of screeching in the distance. “Is that…wyverns mating?” Tallis asked.

“I told you they like other wyverns,” Isabela said.

“Could we mimic that?” Hawke suggested.

“What? No!” Tallis paused. “Oh, the sound. Right, yes, I can try that.”

Carver eyed the dreamy look on Merrill's face as they headed deeper into the hunting grounds. "Something on your mind?"

The elf looked over. "Do you think wyverns are hard to take care of?"

An evil grin spread across Carver's face. "I'm sure my sister could manage it, if you got her one."

"I could not!" Hawke sputtered.

Merrill shook her head. "Well of course you could. But where would you take it for walks? What if it got hungry and ate the neighbors?"

Carver chuckled. "Enjoy your new pet."

The Champion groaned. "She'll find one, too. Thanks for that." She stopped short. “Well, that was close.”

“Oh, shit,” Isabela remarked lightly. “Literally.”

“There you go, Hawke,” Tallis said, pointing at the pile of dung in front of them. “It seems we’re on the trail.”

“Too bad the trail isn’t upwind,” Hawke replied.

They paused at the edge of a lake that reached out across the hunting grounds.

“Winterberry here,” Anders reported, kneeling next to a plant. “That’s everything that huntmaster said we needed for an antidote.”

“Probably not enough for a person, though,” Tallis said.

Hawke was looking out over the lake. “Pretty countryside, at least.”

“Reminds me a little of Lothering,” Carver said.

“The Montfort family inherited this mountain from a clan of Nevarran dragon-hunters.” Tallis paused. “Well, maybe not _inherited_. What do you call it when you kill someone to take all their stuff?”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “I believe we call that murder?”

“Profitable murder, maybe.”

“Hawke, there’s a hound here,” Merrill called. “I think he wants us to follow him!”

“Well, let’s follow the dog, then.” They passed between a set of suspicious-looking holes and Tallis’s face fell as the dog entered a clearing.

“Oh no…poor thing.”

Hawke knelt next to the injured dog. “You hurt, boy? You two must be Sylvain and Nicodemus.”

“Wyvern poison,” Tallis pronounced. “I’m almost certain. Poor thing.”

“Anders, can you make that antidote?”

“It’ll use most of what we’ve collected, and…” Anders sighed as Hawke gave him a look. “Yeah, hang on.” He broke out his tools, and a few minutes later was coaxing the poisoned dog to swallow the antidote. “Here, boy, this’ll get you back on your feet. Er…paws.”

In no time, the hound was coming to, and Tallis cooed as the dog sat up. “Who’s a cute puppy? I suppose we can’t keep him, can we? His owner is probably waiting back at camp.”

Hawke whistled, catching the hounds’ attention. “All right, go find your master!” They barked happily and took off, and Hawke nodded to her companions. “Let’s collapse those…ghast holes while we’re here.” She ignored Isabela snickering again.

Using force spells, animated roots, and in Anders’ case a localized earthquake, they collapsed the ghast holes before any of the creatures could emerge.

“Glad we stopped _that _before it started,” Hawke said as the dust settled. “How many of those things are there?”

“A ghastling nest can be a hundred or more,” Tallis replied. “Just be glad we’re not underground.”

“And what is _that_?” Sebastian asked, looking at a mess nearby.

“A wyvern kill, it looks like,” Tallis said. “Some kind of…halla, or something.”

Hawke looked closer. “That…could be a tunic.”

“Don’t know, don’t care, it’s bait they liked for some reason.”

“Well, let’s drag it along.”

They found the hunter gladly reunited with his hounds not far away, and tracked deeper into the hunting grounds.

Varric stopped as he saw the steaming pile of offal in front of them. “That is one big pile of shit.”

Hawke pulled off her gauntlets, grimacing. “Looking for clues.”

“Hawke, you’re not…” Varric winced. “All right, until you wash that off, I’m going to stay upwind.”

“Ooh, nug bones,” Tallis said as Hawke pulled something she couldn’t identify out of the spoor. “I wonder if a nug call would help attract a wyvern.”

“You know a nug call?” Hawke asked, kneeling at the edge of the lake and washing the filth from her hands.

“You go elbow-deep in wyvern shit and _I’m _the weird one?”

“Yeah, actually,” Hawke said frankly. “But you’ll get used to it.”

“How did you learn to do that thing with the knives, Tallis?” Merrill asked as Hawke pulled her gauntlets back on.

“Throwing them?”

“Yes. Isabela does that sometimes, too. How do you keep it from hitting someone hilt-first and just bonking them on the nose?”

“Oh, that happens all the time, actually,” Tallis said. “You just act like you meant to do that. Which is really hard sometimes and ruins the moment.”

They found a clearing up a hill, and Tallis surveyed the area, nodding to herself. “Yes, I think this would be the place to find a wyvern. And room enough to kill the thing without getting sat on.”

“Think we have enough bait to draw one in?”

“Between the blood, the nug call, the mating call, the halla corpse, and the dragon wing?” Tallis shrugged. “They’re not stupid, but I don’t think a wyvern would pass this up.”

“Lay it all out. Let’s bring the duke a trophy to talk about.”

Tallis smirked. “Let’s get to it, then. We’ve got a lot of stuff to lay out.” Hawke and her companions piled the halla corpse and the dragon wing in the middle of the clearing, and Hawke turned around to find Tallis had doused herself in the blood. “What? They prey needs to be moving, doesn’t it?”

“I…didn’t think so,” Hawke said. “If you’ve already done it, I suppose you might as well.”

“I’ll do the sound. You get ready.” She paused. “Just…don’t look at me while I do this.”

Hawke and the others watched as she put up an ungodly cacophony, running around the clearing and waving her arms. “Is this going to work?” Varric asked.

“Even if it doesn’t, it’s worth it for the entertainment alone,” Hawke said.

There was a creaking in the trees, and a massive wyvern leapt from the woods and let out a ear-rending screech. “Ooh, he’s a big one,” Tallis called, sprinting away.

“We’re ready for you, ugly,” Carver growled, drawing his sword and charging as the wyvern barreled towards them.

The beast made to spit, and Hawke caught it in the open mouth with a lightning bolt, smoke and venom gushing from its mouth as something ruptured. “Everyone pile on!”

The group attacked, spells splashing across the wyvern’s hide as the others closed on the creature. Fenris’s blade sheared deep into one of the wyvern’s forelegs as Isabela’s knives ripped into the opposite winglet, and one of the creature’s eyes burst in a disgusting spurt of fluid as Bianca hit home.

The wyvern lashed out, nearly kicking Fenris in the chest as the elf dodged out of the way. Its tail thrashed and flattened Carver as the Warden circled the beast, and Hawke flattened the wyvern with a blast of downward force in response as Anders hauled Carver to his feet.

The wyvern’s full attention was on Hawke, and the Champion spun her staff as the beast charged, smacking the wyvern across the face with a force spell as it passed narrowly to her left. The wyvern’s jaw was hanging limply as it spun around, and Hawke hit it again with a blast of fire at close range, moving into its blind side and giving it a vicious uppercut with another blast of force that snapped the wyvern’s neck. It collapsed, gurgling plaintively, and Hawke backed away in case the beast turned out to be less dead than it appeared.

“Anybody hurt?” She called.

“Carver’s a little dazed, but he’ll be all right,” Anders reported.

“Well, if it isn’t the Fereldan _turnip_,” an Orlesian-accented voice called. Hawke turned, spotting one of the duke’s guests approaching with his hunting party. “They say you are a champion of some backwater city in the east. Quite an achievement, I’m sure.”

Hawke kept her staff ready. “Do I know you?”

“I am the Baron Arlange. I suggest you run along with your servants while you have the chance. This wyvern was mine to kill, not yours!” He stomped the ground, shouting angrily. “Mine, mine, mine! I paid good coin to be the one who wins this contest! It was my turn!”

“Oh, I didn’t realize the duke was offering charity to his more useless guests,” Hawke said dryly. “My mistake.”

“I will not accept such talk from a backwater mongrel!”

“Your accent is clownish and your manner is foppish and overcompensating,” Hawke replied. “Will you accept _that_ talk?” The baron purpled.

“You do realize this woman has nasty little thugs like you for breakfast, I hope?” Tallis said, wiping blood off her face.

“More insolence! From a knife-ear this time!” Hawke scowled at the slur, and the baron threw up his hands dramatically. “I can take no more of this. Kill them all. We can say the wyvern was too much for them.”

The numbers were almost evenly matched, but even if the baron had brought more men, it wouldn’t have been a fair fight. Three mages against a trio of archers and three men with mauls meant the baron was standing alone before Hawke’s companions who fought with steel had even drawn their weapons. Hawke hit him in the shins with a lesser force blast, dropping him to his knees.

“Now what is going on here?” Duke Prosper called.

Arlange struggled to his feet. “Prosper! This blasted she-bitch tried to steal my rightful kill!”

Prosper smirked. “Now, is that any way to speak of the Champion of Kirkwall, Baron?”

“This is your fault for inviting a stinking turnip in the first place!” Arlange spat. “Your mother would be ashamed!”

Prosper chuckled. “Says the man whose mother has slept with half of Val Chevin.” He turned to Hawke. “My apologies. Arlange has always been a cheat. What would you have done with him?”

Tallis blanched. “You’re not suggesting…”

“Why not?” Prosper asked. “You believe Arlange would have stopped short of murder, given the chance?”

“I’ve no interest in more bloodshed,” Hawke replied, giving Tallis a curious look. “The baron tried to attack a superior foe and – I should hope – learned a valuable lesson.”

“You hear that, Arlange?” Prosper said. “It behooves you to leave while you still can.”

Arlange scowled deeper. “I…fine. I will go.” He stomped off, and Prosper dismissed him with a glance.

“Congratulations on finding the wyvern,” Prosper said. “It looks like a fine one, indeed.” He looked closer. “This may have been the alpha, in fact. A truly impressive kill. There will be a celebration in the chateau courtyard. Do attend when you’re ready.” Prosper and his men left the clearing, and Tallis looked to Hawke.

“You let him go? That was…very merciful.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing,” Carver said.

“Hawke is nice to everybody!” Merrill chirped. “Well, not bandits and skeletons and things. But everyone else!”

Tallis shook herself. “We should go to the chateau. Time to practice your table conversation.”

“Right. We’re here for a reason. Let’s take care of it.”

—ROTC—

“I'm a little surprised the duke let you come here,” Anders remarked to Isabela as they approached the chateau.

“I'll have you know I'm perfectly capable of carrying on polite conversation without using the word ‘shit’ or ‘ass.’ And all these jewels everyone's wearing? It's too easy. No challenge.”

“I didn't think you were going to steal anything,” Anders said defensively.

“Then what's your problem?”

“Just... I would imagine most fancy Orlesian hunting parties require, um...”

“What?”

“Pants.”

“Considering I recognize her from the Rose,” Isabela said, nodding at an elf accompanying a noble with his back to them, “I don’t think I’m going to cause much of a stir.”

Carver eyed the cheese plate, an eyebrow raised. “Is this revenge? You're mad at me for something, so you drag me out to Baron Paucity de Rochefort's grand fete?”

Hawke chuckled. “I've been calling him ‘Duke Prosperity’ in my head, but Paucity de Rochefort is much better.”

Carver grinned. “Le Baron du Stinky-Cheese...”

“I figured there'd at least be free food.”

Carver shrugged. “I do like free food.”

Hawke clapped him on the shoulder. “I've got your back.”

Meanwhile, Sebastian looked Merrill up and down. "You know, people generally wear shoes to this sort of affair."

Merrill raised an eyebrow. "Really? What a strange custom. Among the Dalish, it is a mortal insult to cover your toenails in the presence of a superior."

Sebastian looked taken aback. "You're kidding." Merrill hummed, a smile flitting across her face, and Sebastian looked to Fenris, then Hawke. "She's kidding, right?"

"Be glad she's wearing nice clothes," Hawke replied. "I'd have been fine with her normal outfit, but she wanted to look pretty for the party."

"Did it work?" Merrill asked, twirling and stumbling slightly on the finish. Her skirts flared, and Isabela ducked her head to hide her smile.

"You look lovely, Merrill," Hawke said warmly.

Sebastian sighed. "I must agree with Hawke. This suits you."

The elf beamed. "But I'm so nervous! What if I do something wrong and embarrass us? I always do something wrong."

The Starkhaven prince smiled faintly. "You'll be fine, Merrill."

"But I don't know anything about human manners! What if I use the wrong fork? And then accidentally stab someone with it. That sounds like the sort of thing that would happen to me."

The prince nodded sagely. "Just act annoyed that they bled on your dress. Nobody will even notice."

Anders brushed his robes down, looking self-conscious. "Do the Dalish ever have fancy parties?"

Merrill looked over. "Hm?"

Anders shrugged. "I always imagined they celebrated most big occasions by eating mushrooms and acorns. And maybe dancing naked around a campfire."

Merrill looked around. "You know, I was wondering when the naked dancing was going to start. And the human sacrifice. I mean, you just can't throw a decent party without kidnapping a human child and offering her entrails to the sky gods."

Anders stared at Merrill in surprise. "Really?"

The elf gave him an irritated look. "No."

Anders tapped Hawke on the shoulder. "You've been teaching her snark. I approve."

“If you weren't a pirate, what do you think you would've been?” Merrill asked.

Isabela shrugged, plucking a glass of wine off a passing tray and giving the elven servant a grateful nod. “I haven't given it much thought. Maybe a poet?”

“You would've made a great griffon-wrangler.”

Isabela paused halfway through her drink. “I'm sorry... what?”

“You're so quick and clever. You'd be perfect. And you'd get a baby griffon for me, wouldn't you?”

Isabela smiled. “Kitten, if griffons existed, and if I was a...griffon-wrangler and not a pirate, yes. I would find you a baby griffon.”

“Thanks. I've always wanted a baby griffon called Feathers.”

“I took a quick look around,” Tallis reported, rejoining the group. “There’s one door into the castle that isn’t under heavy guard.”

“But there’s a problem, right?” Isabela finished, downing her drink. “There’s always a problem.”

“I can’t get it open,” Tallis admitted. “And believe me, I tried. Bent a nice set of lockpicks in that stupid door. One of the duke’s guardsmen must have the key. They wouldn’t just lock themselves out of the castle. I hope.”

“Well, it would explain why he’s having the party in the garden,” Hawke quipped. “I assume you’ve got a plan for getting the key away from the guard?”

“We’ll need to handle this quietly,” Tallis said.

“Let’s split up,” Carver suggested. “We don’t want the duke to think we’re laying siege to his party.”

“Enjoy the appetizers,” Hawke said. “We’ll look for the key. Scout out the castle for another way in.”

Tallis and Hawke split off, approaching Prosper. “Ah, at last, our mighty heroine!” the duke called. He turned to his other guests. “The Champion of Kirkwall has the honor of first kill this day!” There was a smattering of polite applause and a few scattered cheers. “To hunt the wyvern on its own ground is to tempt fate: a terrible risk. But the prize…” He held out a belt of fine leather. “I present to you this belt crafted of fine wyvern skin. Wear it well, and accept the accolades you are due.”

“Thank you, Duke Prosper,” Hawke replied. “I’m proud to be here.”

“Your humility, my dear Hawke, does you great credit.” There was a massive roar from behind him, and Hawke spotted another wyvern in a large cage in the courtyard. The creature appeared to be wearing armor and a saddle, and Hawke’s eyebrows furrowed. “Do not mind Leopold,” Prosper said. “My pet is always so temperamental before dinner.”

“Leopold, is it? I didn’t know wyverns could be tamed.”

“Tame is perhaps too strong a word,” Prosper chuckled. “My friends, I officially welcome you all to Chateau Haine. Enjoy a taste of Orlesian hospitality!”

Hawke and Tallis took their time mingling, speaking with several of the guests. “Ah, the Champion of Kirkwall,” a redhead greeted her as they circulated. “I…” her eyes widened in shock. “Tallis?”

“Leliana,” Tallis said a touch too casually. “It’s so lovely to see you again.”

“You look stunning this evening,” Leliana replied. “Your hair is darling. Did you do it yourself?”

Hawke glanced between the two. “I get the distinct impression you two have met before.”

“Oh, briefly,” Tallis said. “A long time ago.”

“You met all sorts of people in Orlais,” Leliana said airily. “It keeps life exciting.”

“Well, we should keep circulating,” Hawke said. “Things to do, people to see, all that.” As they separated, Hawke gave Tallis a searching look. “Who was _that_?”

“Someone I didn’t expect to see here,” Tallis said cryptically. “It’s a long story.” She jerked her head at a guard standing nearby. “That’s the guard.”

“Can I help you?”

“I just tried one of the canapes and it was raw in the middle,” Hawke said urgently. “Someone must alert the kitchen.”

“I don’t wish to speak ill of anyone, but they were also overseasoned,” Tallis added. “I pray no one else has tasted one, or the _scandal_…”

Hawke took over smoothly. “Nutmeg. It ruins even the best cook.”

“I cannot help you, madame. I’m afraid I do not have the key to the chateau.”

“Then who does?” Hawke asked.

“The guard over there.” He indicated a man standing at the opposite end of the courtyard. “Perhaps he can be of assistance.”

A few minutes later, Tallis had disappeared with the guard into a cloakroom. She heard a feminine giggle and muffled conversation from inside and rolled her eyes. “Lovely party,” she said to a passing couple.

Hawke raised an eyebrow as Tallis walked out of the room, clearly frustrated. “He doesn’t have it,” she growled.

“What?”

“He ‘forgot’ he’d given the key to one of the servants,” Tallis said. “What kind of guard forgets he’s locked himself out of the castle?”

“Well, there’s only so many servants out here,” Hawke said. “We’ll find her.”

It took several more minutes and speaking to every servant at the party before they found the elven servant with the key. “Can I interest you in some Antivan olives?” she asked. “Or I have smoked ham from the Anderfels. They say it tastes of despair.”

“Wait, does it really?” Tallis asked. “How can ham taste like despair? Why would anyone eat it if it did?”

“That’s what the importer said,” the servant said with a shrug. “They all talk like that. ‘This wine has notes of oak and springtime. This cheese tastes of sorrow.’”

“Thank you, miss,” Hawke said. “No despair for me at the moment.” She plucked an olive from the tray. “I am fond of the olives, however.”

“Nobody has wanted anything,” the servant lamented. “Olive duty is the worst job. I must have offended the cook.”

“I don’t suppose we could have a peek at the kitchens?” Tallis pressed. “I’d love to see this hopeless dish in all its glory.”

“I don’t know, I shouldn’t leave my post…”

“We won’t tell a soul,” Hawke promised. “Just a quick look.”

“I suppose I could get you a _very _quick look,” the servant said. “The upstairs maids will be so jealous when they find out. Very well, follow me!”

Moments later, Tallis and the servant were discussing the challenges faced by elves. “I know, right?” Tallis was saying. “They treat you like part of the furniture! I’m surprised they don’t sit on us.” A few minutes later, Tallis emerged, a dark look on her face.

“Did you get the key?”

“I’m usually better at this. She didn’t have the key either. This isn’t supposed to be so complicated!”

“At this rate we might as well steal dessert spoons and tunnel under the wall,” Hawke sighed. “Remind me why we can’t just kick the door in?”

“Because we don’t want to fight the duke’s entire army?” Tallis supplied. “The servant says she gave it to the duke’s son, Lord Cyril. Let’s find him and hope he didn’t pass it on to his father.”

Lord Cyril brightened as they approached. “Excellent! Join us, Champion! We were just discussing your famous confrontation with the Qunari leader.”

“You must tell us the tale!” A Fereldan bann said. “It was the talk of Denerim for months!” Cyril gave him an ugly look, and the bann quickly excused himself.

“My mother spoke often of Leandra. They were great friends when they were young. It is a shame neither could be here.”

“I agree,” Hawke said. “My friend here has been dying to speak with you privately. She’s talked of nothing else.”

“For you, Hawke? Of course.”

Hawke listened through the door, hearing Tallis’s frustration. “No, I don’t have the cheese tray. You’re mistaking me for…I was hoping we could…fine, I’ll put that in the trash.” She emerged, her eye twitching. “This is officially my worst night ever.”

“Not Lord Cyril’s type?”

“Apparently he doesn’t like elves,” Tallis grumbled. “You give it a try. He has the key.”

“I can't. He's not my type.”

“You're gonna have to play through that.”

“As in, he's not a _girl_,” Hawke said exasperatedly.

“Oh, oh.” Tallis paused. “Pretend he has boobs.”

“_Worse_. Seems like I could save time and just assume a plan will fall apart from the start.”

“Just…go try something. Please?”

Hawke sighed. “Isabela would be better at this.” Pasting a smile on her face, she opened the door.

“Tell the elf her pleas are for nothing,” Lord Cyril said as Hawke entered the room. “She’s pretty enough, I suppose. No doubt there are some men who would like that sort of thing.”

“I’m not sure what to say,” Hawke blurted out. She winced, mentally kicking herself.

“I have never had a vindictive temper, madame. Fetch me a glass of wine, and we will say all is forgiven.”

“Well?” Tallis asked as she emerged. “Did you get the key?”

“Somehow, I’m getting him a drink,” Hawke said. “Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know.”

“That’s perfect! I’ve got a drug we can slip in his wine. He’ll sleep like a baby, and we can search him for the key.” Hawke snagged a glass of wine, and Tallis surreptitiously poured a dollop of the drug inside. “Give that wine to Lord Cyril, and just…try to act casual.”

“Your wine, Lord Cyril,” Hawke said a few moments later. “Words can’t express how sorry I am for the hardships you’ve endured at the hands of my friend.”

“By nature, I am very forgiving,” Cyril replied. “We will let bygones be bygones.” He drank deeply, and a few moments later was weaving. “Andraste, the wine has gone straight to my head! I feel…” He collapsed, and Hawke wrestled him into a chair before relieving him of the key.

“You have it. Tell me you have it.” Hawke nodded. “Good. Then we can find the…jewel and get this over with.”

“You sound just thrilled about that,” Hawke said.

“It’s simply been a long time coming, that’s all.”

“This jewel is that important to you?”

“It is. I want this part of my life finished.”

“And here I thought we were getting along so well,” Hawke said dryly.

“I can’t imagine anyone I would rather attend an Orlesian party with.”

They made a quiet exit from the party, cutting down a narrow hallway. A guard was waiting in the next room, and he started as they came around the corner. “What in the name…?”

“There’s no need for you to die today, friend,” Tallis said placatingly. “Just move on. You never saw us.”

“Thieves!” A knife burred into his throat, and the guard collapsed, gurgling.

“You could have walked away,” Tallis whispered, kneeling over the body and retrieving her knife.

“Is something wrong?”

“I didn’t want to kill him,” Tallis said.

“You slaughtered several men before we were even properly introduced,” Hawke said slowly.

“There are other paths,” Tallis insisted. “They do not all need to lead to the same destination.” She shook herself, standing up. “Enough. We’re here for the Heart.”

“Let’s do this quietly,” Hawke said. “Raising the alarm would only cause problems.”

“Agreed. This part of the chateau will be crawling with guards. We’ll have to try our best to keep out of sight.”

They crept along the wall, sticking to the shadows when possible. Hawke pulled a copper from her pocket as they bypassed a guard, pitching it off the walls with a muffled _ping_. The guard went to investigate, and they hid in the shadows again as a pack of guards passed by.

They passed by the kitchen, and Hawke weaved magic, knocking out a guard lieutenant with a sharp pulse of force magic. Tallis caught the armored man before he clattered to the floor, and she retrieved a key from his belt.

Up a set of stairs, through a locked door, still sticking to the shadows, Hawke and Tallis crept onto the rooftop of the chateau. There were several guards nearby, and Hawke cast another spell, a minor cantrip flaring in a topiary and drawing the guards’ attention. The infiltrators crept past as the guards investigated the sudden light.

The chateau seemed to go on forever, and more than once Hawke had to knock out a guard with magic to retrieve a key or clear a path. It came to a head when they entered a columned hall and gates came down everywhere. “Nothing’s as easy as it seems,” Hawke sighed.

“I swear, I didn’t know,” Tallis protested. “There must be some sort of switch.”

Working out the solution using loose floor tiles took them several minutes and knocking over a pair of expensive-looking busts, but they eventually opened the gate over the opposite door.

They entered the next room, and Tallis paused, looking around warily. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Tallis admitted. The sounds of boots clomping on the floor sounded from behind them, and Tallis sighed. “Yes.”

“Don’t fret, my dear,” Duke Prosper said.

More guards streamed into the room, and Hawke revised her mental calculations. The odds were getting longer every second. “Yes, I’d say this definitely qualifies as wrong,” she said.

“It’s not over yet,” Tallis replied.

“But it _is _over,” Prosper said. “I knew who you were the moment you arrived, _assassin_.”

“Assassin?” Hawke glared at Tallis. “I knew it.”

Tallis’s eyes widened. “You did?”

“Please. You weren’t exactly subtle. And you’ve been acting strangely since we arrived.”

“Clever girl!” Prosper jeered. “Have you also deduced that your elven friend is Qunari?”

“Besides the use of Qunari-sounding proverbs, and the big Qunari sigil on her armor?” Hawke asked. “No, I had no idea.”

“Look, I came here to stop the Heart from doing something we will all regret,” Tallis said. “She didn’t. Leave her out of this.”

“And waste all the effort I spent luring you here before the Heart’s arrival?” Prosper shook his head. “Don’t be foolish.”

“_Asay hassatra maas_,” Tallis spat.

“_Maas avastrasa kulun_,” Prosper replied. “Take them away.”

—ROTC—

“So the elf was Qunari,” Cassandra said.

“And the dwarf has no beard!” Varric replied. “I know, it made no sense to me, either. Maybe they cut her horns off.”

“The Qunari are not a race, they are a religion,” Cassandra said, before refocusing. “What I don’t understand is why a Qunari agent would try to kill one of her own people. And why involve the Champion?”

“Excellent questions,” Varric commented.

“I expect answers to match.”

Varric spread his hands. “I live to please.”

—ROTC—

Hawke paced in the cell, glaring at Tallis, who was seated against the wall. “You’re angry, aren’t you?” Hawke glared harder. “Look on the bright side: the duke didn’t have us killed. That’s got to be worth something, right?” Hawke gave her the same glare she’d given the Arishok, and Tallis winced. “Unless he has something _worse _planned.”

“Considering I have several companions still outside of this cell who are going to be _very _invested in getting me out, I’m just going to be patient,” Hawke replied.

“So you’re just going to wait here?”

“If you prefer, I could yell at you instead,” Hawke offered.

“I _am_ sorry,” Tallis said. “This didn’t work out like I’d planned. Obviously.”

“From what I’ve seen so far, you seem to have that problem a lot,” Hawke jabbed. “How did you envision this playing out?”

“The one I expected to find is named Salit, a member of the Ben-Hassrath…the Heart of the Many. I was told he’s here to sell secrets to the Orlesians, and I came to stop him. I…suppose I was misinformed.”

“So everything you told me was a lie,” Hawke pointed out.

“Not everything,” Tallis mumbled.

“You could have told me you were Qunari. I mean, it wasn’t hard to spot, but you did try to keep it from me.”

“You don’t need horns to embrace the Qun,” Tallis said. “What you need is a purpose. A belief in unity, in improving the lot not only for your own people but for everyone.”

“At the cost of everyone’s individual freedoms,” Hawke countered. “And that ‘purpose’ seems to involve lots of swords, poison, and forced conversion.”

“Because your people are so much better, I suppose? No one oppressed, no one left starving?”

“No, but I’m not the one claiming to have all the answers,” Hawke replied coldly.

“Being Qunari doesn’t automatically mean you’re a zealot,” Tallis said. “Most Qunari don’t even understand humans, why you act like you do. But I grew up among you. I understand perfectly well. Can you honestly say there’s nothing to improve, nothing to strive for? We believe in striving together. We may stumble, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.”

“Which is used as an excuse for tyranny,” Hawke said. “When the options are join, die, or be brainwashed into joining, I’m not seeing a great reason to support that movement. Maybe you did.”

“It’s who I am. I joined the Ben-Hassrath because I felt it meant something.” She paused. “_Means_ something.”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

“It’s been a long time since I even talked to anyone about it. I suppose it’s not really prison cell conversation.”

Hawke glared at her a moment longer. “So you came here to stop this Salit from betraying your people?”

“You probably won’t believe me, but this isn’t a political mission. It’s…personal.”

“Not like you’ve given me any reason to doubt you,” Hawke deadpanned. “Personal how?”

“Salit was my _bessrathari _– the one who recruited me into the Ben-Hassrath. My tutor. He’s the one who saw my potential, convinced me that I could make a difference.”

“And he’s selling secrets now?”

“He is, or at least he intends to. One last act of defiance. I can’t let him do that. Not when he’ll hurt so many others in the process.”

“And I was a means to an end,” Hawke replied. “Or was it more than just having an invitation?”

“You were the only one on the invitation list who wasn’t a personal friend of the Montfort family. And you’re also _basalit-an_, remember? An outsider worthy of respect.”

“As if I give two shits about being respected by the Qunari.”

“But you are, nonetheless. If there was anyone a Qunari should or would consider going to for help…it’s you.”

“And what was going to happen when all of this was over?” Hawke asked.

“I thank you, we go our separate ways?”

“Really?” Hawke asked. “I wouldn’t notice a thing?”

“Truth? You’re…not exactly what I was expecting. I’ve heard a few stories about you. They don’t quite do you justice. Perhaps if I’d done my homework, I would have known more about you. Given you the respect you deserve.”

“No offense, but you seem to have half-assed this entire affair,” Hawke said. “You messed up our introduction, got made upon arrival, couldn’t get the key to get us into the building, didn’t research your assets…clearly the mark of a skilled Qunari agent.”

“No need to rub it in. And there I was making fun of the Crows, too.”

Hawke rubbed her face. “I suppose the good news is with all this extra time, I can learn to knit. Merrill was teaching me.”

“Could you make me a sweater?”

Hawke gave her a look that made it clear she hadn’t been forgiven. “No.”

“The first order of business is getting out of here before His Grace decides we would taste good in the soup. Or whatever he has planned.”

“Why he hasn’t had us killed yet, I don’t know,” Hawke mused. “Presumably he thinks we’d be valuable alive to _somebody_, but the Qunari wouldn’t ransom you and Kirkwall wouldn’t pay to get me back.”

“I know Prosper’s type,” Tallis replied. “Killing us quickly and quietly wouldn’t be Orlesian enough. Any ideas on getting out of here?”

“The others should be along shortly.”

—ROTC—

Carver glanced around. “So, we're lost.”

“Just like old times,” Varric said.

“Maker, I hope not. I was an ass.” Sebastian smirked at Carver’s words.

Varric laughed. “Fair comment, Junior. All right, let's get this done.”

Isabela, Fenris, and Merrill came up behind then, looking annoyed. “Have either of you seen Anders?” Fenris asked.

“You _lost _him?” Varric asked Isabela.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Isabela protested. “Pairing off and splitting up was your idea!”

Anders came sprinting up, his eyes wide and wild. “Any luck finding Hawke?” He panted.

Varric shook his head. “I was hoping you’d found her.”

“No, but I ran into someone else,” Anders muttered.

Carver glanced over, confused. “What?”

“Never mind. Let’s go.”

—ROTC—

Hawke was leaning against the wall with her eyes closed, waiting quietly. “That’s it,” Tallis sighed. “I’m officially tired of waiting to be rescued.” She fiddled with the door for several moments, before pushing it open.

Hawke stared at her a moment. “Why didn’t you just do that before?”

“You said your friends were coming.”

As if on cue, the others came jogging down the hall towards them. “Safe and sound,” Carver said. “This is why I never rush when you’re in trouble.”

Isabela and Merrill quickly checked her over. “You’re all right,” Isabela said, more to herself. “Of course you’re all right.”

“Let’s just get out of here,” Anders urged.

“How?” Fenris asked. “Through the castle? And the duke’s entire army?”

“There’s a better way,” Tallis offered.

“What makes you think I’m going anywhere with you?” Hawke asked.

Tallis shrugged. “You want to carve your way out of here? Fine. I’ll back your play either way.”

“Something wrong?” Isabela asked.

“She’s Qunari,” Hawke said. “And here to kill someone, apparently.”

“Well the sigil wasn’t hard to spot,” Fenris commented.

“Either way, we found your equipment,” Varric said, passing over Hawke’s staff and Tallis’s knives. “Laying around in a locked chest.”

“So what’s the move?” Carver asked.

Hawke glanced around, seeing the other cells in the dungeon unoccupied. “If there _is _a vault around here – was that part true, at least?” Tallis nodded. “I don’t see the harm in relieving Prosper of whatever we can make off with.”

“Now you’re talking,” Isabela said eagerly.

Hawke’s companions had come from one direction, so the reunited group went the other way, cutting down a pack of guards that were unlucky enough to be in their way. They passed another gate, coming upon a trio of stone statues in strange positions. “And this array of sculptures is known as ‘Scurvy Bastards Reflecting on Modern Life,’” Varric commented. “After much reflection, they appear to have come to the conclusion, ‘Well, shit.’”

Carver grinned. “Look at these guys. Arr. Would yer like me to swab yer poop deck, matey?”

Hawke laughed. “Carver, stop.”

“Sorry,” Carver said without a hint of sincerity.

As they passed, a voice echoed in the narrow hallway. “Yo, ho!”

Isabela paused. “_What _did you call me? Who said that?”

“Captain! Captain Isabela, sir, over here!” Isabela turned, looking at the statues.

“Varric, if you’re throwing your voice again…”

“I’m not doing it,” Varric insisted.

“That statue is talking to me,” Isabela said slowly. “That _statue _is _talking _to me!”

“It’s me, Paisley Pete!” The statue said. “Knife-Eared Jan, and Left-Hand Rawley. Crew of the _Wicked Dancer_! Helped you board that Nevarran brig?”

“I remember your ‘help,’” Isabela replied. “I also remember that your Captain Maldine tried to claim all the booty.”

One of the other statues, presumably Jan, spoke up. “Aye, and then Maldine put a curse on us, the scurvy bastard. Only another sea captain can lift it!”

“I’m listening,” Isabela sighed.

“We captured a sloop out of Antiva City, the _Majestic_. Mostly, she was carrying silks to Orlais,” Pete explained. “But in a strongbox hidden in the silks was the Dagger of the Four Winds.”

“That’s just a legend,” Isabela scoffed.

“Maker’s truth, Captain,” Pete said. “It’s as real as life.”

“Pirate treasure always has such dramatic names,” Hawke commented. “Dagger of the Four Winds, Rum of Scurvy Sam. Really?”

“The drama makes it more fun to steal,” Isabela said loftily. “Everyone knows that.”

“Captain Maldine didn’t want nobody taking the dagger and jumping ship, so he put a spell on it,” Rawley said.

“He said any blighter who took it from a rightful captain would turn to stone,” Jan said. “But who believes in curses?”

“We pried the jewels off the hilt to sell them to the duke,” Pete continued. “Then the curse caught up with us. Put the dagger back the way it was, and you can set us free.”

“No promises,” Isabela said. “But we’ll look for this mythical dagger.”

They cut through another group of guards, coming up a set of stairs out of the dungeons. “Done with my hospitality already, are we?” Prosper called mockingly from the other end of the room, looking down on them from the stairs. “Such a shame.”

Hawke eyed the edges of the room, seeing archers waiting and guards drawing their weapons. Prosper’s bodyguard Cahir was among them. “It’s not that we don’t appreciate the accommodations, but you know how it is.”

“Alas, it’s too soon for my guests to leave,” Prosper replied. “You will miss the main event!”

“I could live with that,” Carver said.

“He beat me by one second,” Hawke muttered to Varric. “All we want is to get out of here, Duke Prosper. Let us through.”

“Is that all you want?” Prosper asked. “I don’t think it’s all _she _wants.”

“You’ve made your point,” Hawke called. “Don’t make this worse than it needs to be.”

Prosper smirked. “Odd. I was about to say the same thing to you.”

“Just let her go, Prosper,” Tallis said. “It’s me you want.”

“What I want is to ensure you cannot further hinder my plans,” Prosper replied. He turned, dropping a heavy iron gate behind him. “Do your job and kill them, Chasind. Is that not why I keep you around?”

“That is it,” Cahir said with a scowl as Prosper left. “Hold them. I’m releasing the pets.” He fled through a side door as the other guards drew their weapons.

The fight was quick and brutal, Anders and Merrill flinging fireballs at the archers as the others engaged the swordsmen Cahir had left behind. “I don’t think we’re getting out that way,” Hawke said, eyeing the gate Prosper had closed.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Varric replied. “Some lockpicking, maybe a few hours…you’re probably right.”

“We’ll have to go back down and through the caves I mentioned before,” Tallis said. “Although I wonder why the duke’s bodyguard ran off like that.”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Hawke replied. “I’m worried about those ‘pets’ he mentioned.”

They left through the only open door, and Hawke whistled as she looked around. “Quite spacious for a treasure vault.”

They ducked into a side room, foregoing the massive pile of gold in the center of the room that was surrounded quite conspicuously by concentric rings of fire. A set of locked doors with a golem guarding them put up little resistance to a directed force spell from Hawke. The golem was harder to take down, but the doors were simply thick wood in a stone frame. Isabela whistled as she picked up a ruby from the chest the golem had been guarding as Hawke flipped the lever behind the fallen golem.

“One gigantic, flawless ruby,” she said. “If this isn’t the Jewel of the West Wind, I’ll eat my boots.” She plucked another jewel from the chest, inspecting it in the light. “And a sapphire the size of my eye. This has to be the Jewel of the South Wind. I wonder what it’s worth?”

“Considering it’s cursed, probably not as much as you would think,” Hawke said, shoving fistfuls of coin into her pouches and pockets.

They returned to the main vault, finding the outer ring of fire quenched. The second side room held more locked doors and another golem that took violent exception to Hawke’s unsolicited renovations. As Hawke flipped the lever and the others filled their pockets, Isabela examined an emerald from the stash. “I’ve never seen an emerald this perfect before. It’s got to be the Jewel of the North Wind.”

The last stone was with the golem in the third side room, and Isabela marveled at is as Hawke flipped the last lever. “This is the biggest diamond I’ve ever seen. Including one dancer named Diamond. It’s got to be the Jewel of the East Wind. That’s all four.”

They returned to the main vault and took as much as they could carry. Hawke picked up a battered dagger, turning it over. “You think this was the Dagger of the Four Winds?”

Isabela’s eyes widened. “Paisley Pete wasn’t completely full of shit. It might have been. It _could_ have been. Before they ruined it. Those bastards made a mess of the settings, but I can put the gems back in place well enough.” She fiddled with the dagger for a minute, before nodding. “Whatever we do now, I am not giving this knife to Paisley Pete. It’s much too pretty.”

They returned to the dungeons. “I’ve put the dagger back together,” Isabela said to the statues. “Now what?”

“Well, you have to…er…” Paisley Pete hesitated.

“Give it away,” Jan sighed. “You have to give it away, and not get it back. That’s the term of the curse.”

“Let them what steal from rightful captains suffer for their greed,” Rawley quoted. “Only by captain’s generosity can scabby bastards be freed.”

“I could be generous without giving up the dagger,” Isabela protested. “There’s a lot of kinds of generosity, you know!”

“Izzy, come on,” Hawke prodded. “These poor blighters just want the curse lifted. What would you feel in their place?”

“I wouldn’t be in their place,” Isabela insisted. “I don’t steal anything with a curse on it. That’s just good sense!”

“So you’re just going to leave them here forever?”

Isabela groaned. “No, fine, you win. Maker, you are such a bad influence on me. I can’t leave them like this.” She tossed the dagger to the floor. “Fine. I never want to see it again. You hear that, Maldine? Now turn them back.”

There was a flash of light, and the stone of the statues broke away, leaving the pirates freed. “We’re your men for life, Captain,” Rawley said. “We swear! Even Jan.”

“Shut up, Rawley,” Jan snapped.

“Great, I lost a priceless dagger and gained three disloyal, thieving sea dogs,” Isabela deadpanned.

“Not a total waste, then,” Hawke said dryly. Isabela scowled at her.

The pirates armed themselves from the fallen guards’ weapons and fell in behind Hawke and her companions as they headed for the exit Tallis claimed was there. “You call this an exit?” Fenris asked skeptically, eyeing the gap in the wall.

“A dark, musty cavern,” Isabela said. “You sure know where all the good parties are.”

“How did you know about this?” Hawke asked, examining the hole in the wall.

“I stole old plans, from the Fourth Blight. This was a Retreat, they called it. The Grey Wardens built it. At any rate, there’s an exit that leads out onto the mountainside. That’s your way out.”

Hawke rubbed her face. “What about you?”

“I’m here for a reason,” Tallis said softly. “I’m not leaving until I accomplish it.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Alone?”

“If necessary.”

Hawke led the way into the cavern, Tallis trailing behind them.

Merrill piped up. “Oh, caves! I like caves!”

“No, you don't, Merrill.”

Merrill paused. “Oh, right! Giant creepy spiders and things live in caves! What is it I'm thinking of, then? Ruins?”

“I don't understand Tallis,” Anders muttered to Hawke. “Who would willingly join a religion that strips away all your choice?”

Hawke shrugged, but Sebastian provided an answer. “She had an emptiness in her life. For her, the Qun filled it.”

Anders glanced over in confusion. “Don't you hate them?”

“The Chantry has failed the elves,” Sebastian said. “If we made them more welcome, they would not have to run. Maybe the Qunari will force us to better bring word of the Maker's compassion to our own people.”

“I’ve seen the Maker’s ‘compassion,’” Anders groused. Sebastian rolled his eyes, but Anders went on. “The Grey Wardens saw it just about every day. What compassionate Maker would willingly punish the entire world for the actions of a handful? Not just allow the world to suffer, but to _cause _that suffering? To take it out on everyone else?” Sebastian didn’t answer, and Anders sighed. “Yeah, I wish I had an answer to that one, too.”

The cavern was silent, but well-lit, dwarven-made sconces in the walls and pillars providing ample illumination.

Hawke paused as they came upon a bridge. “There’s a lake? In the middle of the mountain?”

“The Retreat needed to house hundreds of people during the Blight,” Tallis explained. “If not thousands. Can’t do that without fresh water.”

“But…it’s an entire _lake_,” Hawke protested. “How would they move that much water, even with magic?”

“Oh, that,” Tallis said. “I have no idea.” They progressed across the bridge, Tallis leading the way. “That’s odd. I could swear there was…” A gate slammed down behind her, and Hawke stumbled back, hearing boots thudding against the dirt as men approached from the rear.

Hawke turned, finding Cahir and several masked mages crossing the bridge. “I was wondering where you’d gotten off to,” Hawke said in greeting.

“Trust me,” Tallis called, vanishing around a corner.

“The Circle are not the only ones who know how to break a mage,” Cahir said, gesturing to the men around him.

“You’ll do Prosper’s bidding after he left you here?”

“I do not fight for him,” Cahir scoffed. “The duke is a fool. His enemies, a posturing, guileless lot. But _you_ are worth testing. Prosper can fight his own battles. And I shall choose mine.” An arrow sank into his eye socket, and Varric racked Bianca, loading a fresh bolt. As the bodyguard staggered back, clutching at his face, a knife burred into the wood of the bridge next to him.

“Missed,” Tallis called from above, dropping down to their level. “And that would have been a nice shot, too.” She gave Hawke a wry smile. “You didn’t think I was leaving, did you?”

“Kill them!” Cahir screamed, his remaining eye focused on Hawke. “Kill them all!” Hawke lobbed a fireball into the midst of the mages supporting Cahir, and Carver engaged the bodyguard as more of the duke’s men entered the cavern. Fenris and Isabela charged them with Isabela’s new crew in support as Sebastian and Varric began picking the troops off from long range. Merrill casually dropped a firestorm on the rear of the newcomer guards as Anders and Tallis finished off the remaining mages Cahir had brought.

Hawke caught Cahir in the back with a bolt of lightning as Carver swept the man’s battleaxe out of the way and took his head clean off. The Warden glared at her. “I had him.”

“I know you did,” Hawke replied.

“Well, that was bracing,” Tallis said, and Hawke glanced over to find all of the duke’s men dead on the ground and Isabela and Varric looting the bodies.

“I thought you’d left,” Hawke admitted.

“I found a way around. I said I’d get you out of here and I meant it. The exit can’t be much further.”

Hawke glanced up at the ledge she’d dropped from. “Unless you have a ladder, I don’t think we’re getting out that way.”

Fenris cleared his throat, standing over Cahir’s corpse and holding a key. “This might help with the portcullis.”

They progressed through tunnels, and Hawke paused. “Does anyone else hear that?”

“Ghasts,” Tallis said. “They’ve probably made their nest in these tunnels.”

The ghasts were numerous and carried short spears, but the tight confines of the tunnels meant fireballs and chain lightning were viciously effective. As they slaughtered the last of the creatures, Tallis turned to Hawke. “And there’s the way out,” she said, gesturing to the tunnel ahead. “I told you I had a plan. It was a good plan, the kind that had an escape and everything.”

“The escape part may be working, but everything else you came up with fell apart,” Hawke replied.

“That’s true,” Tallis admitted. “Which is why I wouldn’t blame you if did choose to go. There are, however, other options.”

“Coming on a bit strong, there,” Hawke said dryly. “We’ve only met recently.”

“But we’ve been through so much together! Wyvern hunts, betrayals, daring escapes from prison…”

“I am feeling particularly close to you right now,” Hawke admitted.

Tallis laughed. “So, it’s true what they say about you.”

“She likes rogues,” Isabela said. “Rivaini rogues especially.”

“And the odd mage,” Merrill added. Fenris’s jaw dropped.

“I know you think I lied to you.” Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Well, I did lie to you,” Tallis amended hastily. “But I’m hoping you can look past that. What Salit is going to do will harm so many innocents – my people as well as yours. It’s my duty to stop him. Even so, I can’t do it alone. Not anymore.”

“You’re asking me for my help?”

“I am,” Tallis said. “This is me asking. Help me. Please. I couldn’t force you to help, even if I wanted to. But I get the feeling you’re…an exceptional person, Hawke. Here’s your chance to prove it.”

“After everything you’ve done, why would I help you again?”

Tallis stepped closer, waving her hand over Hawke’s face. “Because I’ve got your nose?”

Hawke remained stonefaced. “The Qun taught you that?”

“If I were following the Qun, I would actually have your nose,” Tallis replied. There was a long, awkward pause. “I suppose that doesn’t help. If I had my way, you would never have been this involved in the first place.”

“You and I go no further until I get some answers,” Hawke said. “Honest ones. What’s so terrible about Salit’s plan?”

“He’s planning to sell secrets to the Orlesians. That information won’t just hurt Qunari. It will harm anyone living in Qunari lands. Even those who fled the Qunari, of any race, will be condemned to persecution.”

“And I’m supposed to just take your word on this? Is that the official stance of the Ben-Hassrath?”

“I’m not here on some directive from the Qun, I came…” She gave a frustrated sigh. “Salit was declared Tal-Vashoth, but they didn’t deem intervention worthwhile. I…couldn’t agree. I had to try.”

“Doesn’t that make you Tal-Vashoth as well?” Hawke asked. “You’re here without orders.”

“No,” Tallis insisted. “The Ben-Hassrath didn’t order me _not _to do this, but here I am anyway.” She gave a mirthless smile. “I was trying to earn my way back into their good graces. This probably won’t help.”

“Wow, that makes it unanimous,” Hawke mused. “I don’t know _anyone_ who isn’t a disaster. What did you do?”

“It’s not easy, being an elf in the Qun. You’re not born to it like they are. I’ve struggled to find that peace, that certainty. I know it’s there, I just…keep falling short.”

“Maybe because their ‘certainty’ is nonsense,” Hawke suggested.

“Maybe you should take that as a sign?” Isabela added.

“I used to be like you,” Tallis said to Isabela. “I told myself if I never cared about anyone or anything, I could never be hurt. Life would be fun. But it wasn’t. There was a hole inside me. Nothing I did ever filled it.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Isabela said. “The people I care about are right here. I’m plenty attached, Tallis. Don’t think you know me. That’s too easy.”

“Not everything should be easy,” Tallis said. “Don’t you wonder what it would be like? A life with meaning, with purpose?”

“My life has plenty of meaning, and I define my own purpose,” Isabela shot back. “I don’t need someone who I guarantee is no smarter than I am to tell me what my purpose should be.”

“What about you?” Tallis asked Hawke. “Have you ever been part of something bigger than just yourself?”

“I have a purpose,” Hawke replied. “I protect Kirkwall.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Isn’t it?” Hawke asked coyly. “I embrace the role that I’ve been given, find peace and certainty and a sense of purpose in it? Is that not what the Qun claims to provide?”

“The Qunari have a vision of what life should be like,” Tallis pressed. “Free from pain and fear and doubt.”

“And choice,” Anders said.

“You see tyranny, and I see caring, an interest in the welfare of all.”

“At the expense of freedom,” Hawke countered.

“You escape a life of servitude and oppression only to join a society of absolute obedience and servility?” Fenris asked.

“I'm not oppressed,” Tallis insisted. “I serve because I wish to.”

“In the manner they dictate. And on pain of death.”

“You make it sound so senseless.”

Fenris scowled. “Voluntarily giving up your freedom _is_ senseless.”

“Yes, it could be better,” Tallis conceded. “But so could human indifference and cruelty. Or do you disagree?”

“Saying the Qunari ‘could be better’ is an understatement. The way I see it, you should have the right to choose your own path, and succeed or fail on your own merits. I understand how Qunari refer to people outside the Qun – _bas_. A _thing_. Nobody has the right to decide how much of a person anyone else is. Not you, not the Arishok, not a Templar or anyone else. Hate each other, lie to each other, kill each other, fine, but don’t ever think that somebody’s less capable of thinking or deserving of existence than you, because that’s how you justify slavery. People’s lives are their own to build or destroy. I don’t care what they do with their lives as long as it’s their choice to do it.”

“And what Salit does is going to take that choice away from a lot of people,” Tallis replied. “It won’t help. It’ll only make things worse.”

“You think you can finish your mission?”

“Alone? Probably not. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try. Some things are worth dying for.”

Hawke found it difficult not to respect her drive. She might believe in the Qun and she might be desperately searching for a purpose in the completely wrong place, but Hawke couldn’t deny that Tallis meant well.

Hawke sighed. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, we could go back, maybe have some tea with the duke, get to know one another. Then, just as he starts to trust us, you slip a bag over his head and we drag him to Antiva!”

“Tallis, _I'm_ the wiseass, _you're_ the spy,” Hawke said tiredly. “Please, respect my boundaries.”

“Well, we could also find out when Salit is arriving, and stop him before it’s too late.”

Hawke stared into Tallis’s eyes for a long moment. “I don’t agree with your philosophy. I don’t agree with what you’ve done. I don’t like that you’ve lied to me this far. But if there’s even a chance that anything you’ve said is true, that there are innocents at risk…I’m going to help. Because right now, it looks like we’re the only ones who can.”

“Thank you, Hawke. I…thank you.”

—ROTC—

_Chateau Haine  
Chateau Haine, situated on the western verge of the Vimmark Mountains, is one of the many estates of the illustrious de Montfort family of Orlais. Duke Prosper de Montfort vacations at the estate frequently, particularly during wyvern-hunting season._

_The structure was built late in the Black Age for Lord Norbert de la Haine, whose treasonous schemes to seize power in the Free Marches led to a call for his execution. Lord Norbert escaped to what was then Fortress Haine and barricaded himself within. The siege lasted a hundred days. Eventually, Antivan Crows slit the lord's throat while he slept. The estate's scandalous past left it unoccupied for long thereafter._

_When the Fourth Blight ravaged the Free Marches, Fortress Haine served as a garrison for the Grey Wardens. The Wardens dug a hollow into the mountain's interior; when darkspawn attacked Kirkwall and Cumberland, citizens of both cities took refuge in the caves, which came to be known as "the Retreat."_

_After the Wardens left victorious, Fortress Haine was presented to Ser Gaston de Montfort, a chevalier of Orlais. The building was converted from military keep to pleasure palace and rechristened "Chateau Haine."_

_—From Portrait of the Free Marches, by Guillaume van der Haute_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	20. A Duke Falls, A New Threat Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We violently wrap up the adventure at Chateau Haine and move on into Act 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Duke Prosper de Montfort  
Duke Prosper is the head of the powerful Montfort dynasty, the descendants of Ser Gaston de Montfont, a chevalier who rose to prominence during the Fourth Blight._

_Prosper de Montfort is a close personal friend of Empress Celene and a perennial fixture at the empress's annual Spring Fête. He spends most of his time outside Orlais either on personal business for the empress or vacationing at his estates in Nevarra and the Free Marches._

_Titles other than lord or lady and emperor or empress were abolished during Emperor Kordilius Drakon's reign. Duke Prosper uses his title only in his private dealings or when he travels beyond Orlais's borders. At court, he is addressed as Lord Prosper de Montfort._

_—From Lifestyles of the Wealthy and Politically Influential, by Lady Jonquil Severin_

—ROTC—

“Nobody is going to believe this story later,” Varric muttered as they emerged into daylight.

“You are too willing to involve yourself in the affairs of others, Hawke,” Fenris said. “Each time you put yourself at risk. One day you will not be so lucky.”

“You have a better idea?

“Don’t go looking for trouble. Keep your head low,” Fenris replied. “Guard what you have.”

“That sounds like a way to go through life without ever knowing anyone.”

Fenris paused. “I... suppose so.”

“How well has that worked for you, Fenris?” Hawke asked pointedly.

Fenris grunted. “It’s kept me alive. How many messes have you stepped in for us, Hawke?”

Hawke stopped, turning to him. “A lot. And I don’t regret any of them. There are many things I would change about my life, given the choice. You all aren’t among those things. It’s not always easy, it’s not always fun, but you were all there for me when I needed you. I would walk through fire for any of you. You’re not just my friends. You’re my family. And you never turn your back on family.”

Fenris gave her a wry smile. “Sometimes I think your heart is too big by half, and even softer than that.”

“Having a soft heart in a cruel world is courage, not weakness,” Hawke replied.

"Why are we still trusting this girl?" Carver asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Varric said. “I suppose it’ll be up to me to come up with a reason when I tell this story.”

Tallis nudged Hawke. “Is your family really from Kirkwall? I heard you were Fereldan.”

“My mother's family is from Kirkwall. We left Ferelden during the Blight.”

Tallis nodded. “Makes sense. Did you know the Warden?”

“Actually, yes. He came to Lothering, but I didn’t know who he was at the time. I understand he is a relative.”

Tallis shook her head. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Apparently the Amell line is just full of troublemakers,” Sebastian said.

“No doubt,” Tallis replied. “So just how good are you with that bow?”

“Eh? There's been no complaints.”

Tallis tilted her head. “So if I put an apple on my head, could you shoot it off?”

“Considering what you've led us into, I don't think that would be wise.”

Tallis sighed. “You people are so touchy.”

“So, what were you before?”

Tallis looked at Sebastian appraisingly for a moment. “When I was a little girl, I liked to pretend I was a dragon.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I mean... were you raised in the Chantry? Among the Dalish?”

“When I grew up, the Imperial Chantry was the only option. They don't have much use for elves. Or anyone who's not a magister.”

“Then they weren't representing the will of Andraste. The Maker has a place for everyone.”

“So does the Qun.”

“Our little Hawke is growing up, Rivaini,” Varric said fondly.

Isabela nodded, her lip quivering theatrically. “Burglary and espionage! We should've hired a painter to get her portrait so we can remember this day forever!”

“Next thing you know, she'll be conning guards and cutting purses without us. Where does the time go?”

Hawke snorted in a very unladylike manner. “Everything I know about being a scoundrel, I learned from you two.

“I think I'm going to cry,” Isabela pronounced. “Look at me! I'm getting misty-eyed!”

“Don't get carried away.”

Isabela pouted. “Carried away? Us? Perish the thought!”

“We are the very souls of moderation, Hawke,” Varric insisted. “You know that.”

Hawke rolled her eyes, but the smirk on her face gave her away. The smirk faded, however, as an Orlesian voice rang out from the trees. “I knew you were a worthless traitor the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“Ah, Baron Shit-For-Brains,” Hawke said warmly. “I figured you would have crawled off to some frilly hole to lick your wounds. Do you really want to do this again?”

“You filthy turnip! You humiliated me!”

“All right, we’re short on time here, so we’ll just kill you instead,” Hawke said, signaling her companions. A rain of arrows and fireballs ended the entire hunting party in a matter of seconds.

Merrill wiped some dust from her staff as they looted the bodies. “_Ma vhenan_, I was thinking... maybe your house needs a garden.”

Hawke relieved Arlange’s corpse of its valuables. “I suppose it wouldn't hurt.”

They tracked around the side of the mountain, following the trails cut through the trees.

“So, we are helping the Qunari,” Fenris said as if he couldn’t believe the situation.

“I told you, there are many innocent lives at stake as well,” Tallis replied.

“And how many ‘innocents’ have the Qunari slaughtered? Bah.”

Isabela paused, her eyes widening in realization. "Wait, I'm _helping_ the Qunari recover some priceless artifact? Me? Oh, the irony."

They ran into a pack of Tal-Vashoth not long after that, their thrown javelins keeping the party pinned down until Tallis and Isabela could work their way through the trees and flank them. “Tal-Vashoth,” Tallis spat. “Like Salit, but for sale. He must be close.”

Merrill was looking at Tallis from behind, tilting her head thoughtfully. At Isabela’s quizzical look, she said, “Do you think I should change my hair, Isabela?”

“Change it how, Kitten?”

Merrill shrugged. “I don't know. I've always had it like this. Tallis has pretty hair.”

“I think yours is darling the way it is.”

“But would it be better if it were red?”

Isabela shook her head. “Then you'd look like a lollypop. Stick with your natural color.”

“I suppose that's best. I wouldn't want strangers to try to lick my hair.” The peppy elf turned to Fenris. “You know, Fenris, you should get a pet!”

Fenris visibly braced himself. “I'm afraid to ask what brought this on.”

“On the way here, I saw a noblewoman in a gown made completely out of fur! I thought she was a bear at first!”

Fenris closed his eyes and took another moment to process that. “So I should keep an Orlesian noblewoman as a pet?”

“Orlesians would make terrible pets! They'd complain all the time! No, I was thinking of a griffon.”

“Somehow, I feel that I should have expected that.”

They rounded a bend in the trail, and found more Tal-Vashoth waiting for them. “More Qunari!” Hawke shouted.

“Tal-Vashoth!” Tallis corrected.

“You know what I mean!”

“Take the leader alive!” Tallis called, sinking her knives into the nearest mercenary’s throat. Hawke yanked most of the attacking band off their feet with a pulse of force magic where Anders and Merrill could rain primal magic on them at their leisure. The leader wisely beat a hasty retreat as his men were reduced to piles of smoking meat, and Tallis took off in pursuit, more Tal-Vashoth running towards them to slow their advance as he fled.

A javelin tore a gash in Varric’s duster, and the dwarf spared a moment to glance at the damage to his coat before his eyes narrowed, and he laughed. “Is that all you’ve got? Let’s dance, you sons of bitches!” He loaded a bundle of arrows into Bianca, scattering them among the approaching fighters. “I could do this in my sleep!” he jeered, advancing and firing again, spearing a charging Tal-Vashoth through the neck. “Come here and give Bianca a kiss!” He rolled out of the way of an axe swing, firing at point-blank range into a Tal-Vashoth’s back and kicking him over, firing again to finish the wounded attacker off.

“Not that that wasn’t impressive, but the leader’s getting away,” Hawke remarked casually.

“Oh, him,” Varric said, shouldering Bianca again. “I got him.” He fired, the arrow slamming through the back of the fleeing leader’s knee and dropping him.

By the time they finished off the other Tal-Vashoth and caught up to Tallis, the blood-soaked elf was kneeling over the leader, speaking quietly in Qunlat. “_Ataasra val,_” Tallis said. “_Panahedan_.” She slit his throat, standing up and calmly wiping blood from her knives.

“I sure hope you found out what you needed to know,” Hawke said as the Tal-Vashoth expired.

“Salit is already here,” Tallis said. “He’s meeting with the duke at the base of the mountain.”

Hawke winced. “Then we’re going the wrong way.”

Tallis nodded grimly. “We need to get down there before it’s too late.”

They began backtracking down the trail, picking their way past the bodies. “I know you're in the Merchants Guild, Varric, but I've never seen your shop,” Merrill remarked.

“We're not that kind of merchant, Daisy.”

“What kind are you, then?”

“House Tethras invests in...” Varric paused. “You're not going to understand a word of this financial stuff, are you?”

“Not a word, no. But I promise to pay close attention anyway!”

Varric nodded in understanding. “Right. In that case, we have lots of shops. But they're invisible. Only dwarves and accountants can see them.”

“Your Merchants Guild reminds me of the court at Starkhaven,” Sebastian chimed in. “Intrigue and gossip wrapped in a layer of formality.”

“If Starkhaven was a tenth as bad, I see why you took to the Chantry.”

Sebastian shook his head. “Fashion was the worst part. In the Chantry, I never have to worry whether doublets are meant to be fitted or padded this year.”

“In Starkhaven, do they bludgeon you to death for forgetting the name of a minor clerk's third daughter?”

“Only if you're lucky.”

Varric heaved a large sigh. “Choir Boy, suddenly your life makes much more sense to me.”

“I'm surprised your parents never married you off, Varric.”

Varric scoffed. “I was still in diapers when my father died. I'm sure he was getting around to it.”

“And your brother never married either, right? Wasn't he concerned about continuing the Tethras line?”

Varric scowled. “Your family's dead and you're still celibate, right? Why don't you take care of that little quirk before you come bothering me.”

“You know, we're not that different, Varric. There was a time when I spent my days drinking and gambling.”

“Was this before or after you got Andraste's face soldered to your pelvis?”

Sebastian glanced down at his belt buckle. “During, actually. That's not the sort of thing a man does while he's sober. I'm just lucky it's a belt buckle and not a tattoo.”

Anders stopped short, Isabela bumping into him. “Wait. Is that supposed to be _Andraste's_ face on your crotch?”

“What?”

Anders waved a hand at Sebastian’s midsection. “That... belt buckle thing. Is that Andraste?”

“My father had this armor commissioned when I took my vows as a brother,” Sebastian said haughtily.

“I'm just not sure I'd want the Maker seeing me shove His bride's head between my legs every morning.”

Tallis nudged Varric. “Last name Tethras, right? I've heard of that clan.”

“Get out! Nobody's heard of Clan Tethras.”

“My father owned a dwarven sword with a Clan Tethras rune on it.”

“Huh. Must have been Dusan. He was a smith. Tried to become Paragon, ended up poisoning himself.”

“Really?”

“He was terrible at intrigue. Forgot which goblet he'd put the poison in. Wasn't finished gloating to his enemy when he keeled over.” Varric scratched his chin. “I think the family always had a sense for terrible drama.”

Tallis shrugged. “Some people are just like that.” She glanced to Hawke. “So, are you married?

“Is that a proposal, or are you just taking a survey?”

“It's just you're the Champion of Kirkwall... Big. Important. I don't know. Just... wondering if there is a husband behind the throne.”

Merrill tilted her head. “Are there any thrones in your mansion, Hawke? All the chairs are so small.”

“Oh, Merrill.”

Isabela chimed in. “Yes. That's a very good question, isn't it?”

Hawke smirked. “Certainly not a husband. And no thrones, either. But I do have a _really_ big bed. Room for a few people in there, you know?”

“Oh, so it’s like that, then,” Tallis said in realization.

“Well, not _yet_, no,” Hawke mused. “But once we’re done here, I’ve got some ideas…”

—ROTC—

At the bottom of the mountain, the meeting was underway. Standing in an abandoned overlook, several Tal-Vashoth were flanking Salit, facing off against Prosper and several of his guards. “Let’s get this over with, Qunari, before your assassins find us,” Prosper said impatiently. “Already I regret agreeing to spare them.”

“I have chosen my path,” Salit rumbled. “That choice should not-”

“_Pashaara!_” Salit’s eyes widened. “I am here to facilitate your deal with the empress, nothing more.”

Salit calmly drew his blades, and the duke’s men tensed. Salit casually spun the blades momentarily, before driving them point-first into the ground and striding forward. Prosper nodded to one of his men, who stepped forward to meet Salit. The rogue Qunari handed over a scroll, and the man slowly unrolled it.

“Well?” Prosper said after a pause.

“Names, Your Grace,” the man replied. “It’s…a list of names.”

Prosper strode to him, snatching the scroll out of his hands and looking it over himself. “What is the meaning of this?”

“You asked for a weapon,” Salit said as if he was speaking to a particularly dim-witted child. “I am providing it.”

“We expected the formula for blackpowder! Dreadnought plans, a map of Qunadar, anything! This…this is useless!”

“Your Grace!” Prosper’s man exclaimed, looking off to the side as Hawke’s party approached from the trail. With everyone looking in the other direction, nobody noticed as one of Prosper’s men was yanked off his feet and dragged into the bushes.

“Champion,” Prosper said calmly. “I should have known you would turn up.” He thrust the scroll out to one of his men, not noticing the ‘guard’ who took it was wearing a somewhat different outfit than the rest of his guards.

“I have an excellent sense of dramatic timing,” Hawke said. “And good hair.”

“Joke while you can,” Prosper replied. “You will not find it funny for long.”

“There’s no need for you to die here, Duke Prosper,” Hawke warned.

“You have a lot of cheek, you insolent little wench,” Prosper spat. There was a scuffle, and Prosper spun around to find Tallis beating his men silly with the helmet she had looted from the guard she had killed, the scroll clutched in her off hand. She knocked the last one unconscious, hastily backing up towards the trees.

“Tallis,” Salit said. He didn’t seem surprised to see her. But that was Qunari for you.

“I _said_ I would stop you, Salit,” Tallis reminded him.

“And I said I would slay you if you tried.”

“If anyone is to do any slaying, it will be me,” Prosper snapped, drawing a crossbow not unlike Varric’s and firing at Salit. A green blob splattered against Salit’s chest, and the Qunari dabbed his fingers in the substance, looking at Prosper questioningly.

There was a shrieking roar, and Hawke looked over to see Leopold, Prosper’s ‘pet’ wyvern, standing atop the stone structure that surrounded the overlook. It leapt, pouncing on Salit and seizing the Qunari between its jaws. Salit screamed and blood splattered the ground as the wyvern savaged its prey.

“Kill them all!” Prosper bellowed.

Not unusually for a fight Hawke was involved in, things quickly descended into chaos. Qunari fought Orlesians fought the Kirkwall crew, blades flashing and magic crackling in the morning light. Prosper immediately rounded on Hawke, firing another blob of the green goop that appeared to be a signal for the wyvern. Hawke rolled out of the way, the blob splattering across the ground harmlessly. Less harmless was the wyvern pouncing on it, snapping and snarling. Hawke immediately hit it in the face with her staff, discharging as much lightning as she could muster into it. “No! Bad wyvern! Bad Leopold!”

“My pet has such poor manners!” Prosper taunted, only to double over as a bolt from Bianca slammed into his midsection, punching through his breastplate.

“There’s only room for one crossbow in this fight!” Varric barked.

Prosper whistled sharply, bracing one hand against the injury, and Leopold screeched, bounding to its master. Prosper pulled himself onto Leopold’s back and spurred the creature on, bowling over Carver as the Warden caught one of the Orlesians in the back. Carver’s leg broke with a snap under Leopold’s foot, and Carver bellowed in pain, shoving his greatsword into the wyvern’s underside and scoring a deep gash along its belly. Isabela darted close, her blades slashing at the wyvern’s hide and drawing its attention as Anders came from the other side to drag Carver to safety. The mage knelt over him, working on his leg.

“Lure him to the cliff!” Tallis shouted, dueling a Qunari.

The next blob of goo caught Hawke square in the chest, and Hawke dodged as the wyvern charged. Leopold went skidding over the edge and clawing desperately at the stone to avoid falling from the cliff. “Flames take you!” Prosper shouted, clinging for dear life to the wyvern’s back.

“You _first_,” Hawke spat, leveling her staff. Prosper’s eyes widened and he leapt just as Hawke cast her spell, blowing the wyvern clear off the side of the mountain with a blast of force magic. Prosper was left clinging to the edge of the cliff with one hand, and Hawke strolled over.

“Keep away from me! The empress will hear of this! Orlais will burn Kirkwall to the ground! All of you will die screaming, I swear it!”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Hawke said casually. “You’re deniable. That’s why she used you. But it’s up to you how this ends. I can help you up, or you can fall.” She smirked. “But you have to ask me nicely.”

Prosper blinked in surprise. “I…you _can’t _be serious?”

“Or don’t. I would have tried begging for mercy.” She turned and walked away.

“You filthy _whore_!”

“Thank you for the lovely party,” Hawke called over her shoulder. “I’ll treasure the belt.” Prosper’s grip slipped, and he fell from the edge with a scream, bouncing off a protruding rock on the way down.

“And that’s why you don’t spend your last minute monologuing,” Varric sighed.

“Did you see that?” Isabela said. “He bounced!”

Hawke helped her brother up, both of them giving Anders a grateful nod. “Looks like the duke…”

“Don’t say it,” Carver warned.

“Has fallen from grace,” Hawke finished. Carver groaned.

Hawke found Tallis crouching in front of Salit’s blades, the weapons still somehow stuck in the ground despite the battle that had raged around them. “_Ataash varin kata_,” she said softly. “If the duke only knew what he nearly had in his grasp.” She stood, turning to Hawke. “Thank you. There’s no way I could have done this without your help.”

“What is on that scroll, anyway?”

“This is a list of agents throughout Thedas,” Tallis replied. “Qunari like myself. Many of them have children, family, friends. They’re people you wouldn’t suspect. Some have even left the Qun behind. But if this list fell into human hands, they and everyone they knew…”

“Would be killed,” Hawke finished.

“The Ariqun believes they knew the risks, but what about the innocents? I…I couldn’t let that happen.”

“With everything that the Qunari have done, shouldn’t those agents be discovered?”

“I believe in the Qun, but I’m not doing this to protect the Qunari,” Tallis insisted. “The list doesn’t distinguish innocent from guilty. It doesn’t show the friends, lovers, children who…” She shook her head. “Nobody should have it.”

“That's what you do for a friend,” Hawke said.

Tallis looked to Isabela. “I can honestly say I'm a little jealous of you right now.”

“Well, there's a lot of Hawke to go around,” Isabela said, winking at Tallis. “You just have to ask me nicely.”

“Oh, don't be jealous!” Merrill paused. “Well... alright, be a little jealous.”

Tallis sighed, before her face brightened. “Oh, right, before I forget.” She dug out a hefty jewel, tossing it to Hawke. “That was going to be the Heart of the Many. You’d find a jewel, while I’d go off and find Salit…and be back before anyone was the wiser. I suppose nothing ever goes like we plan, does it?”

Hawke nodded. “That’s exactly why I typically don’t make plans.”

“Considering everything that just happened, that seems a wise move.”

“So what now?” Hawke asked. “You aren't just going to leave, are you?”

Tallis chuckled. “You think I would fit into your merry entourage?”

“Let's see...” Isabela mused. “Are you possessed? Consorting with demons? A pathological liar?”

“I have six toes on my left foot.”

Isabela shrugged. “Eh, close enough.”

“Maybe some other time, Hawke. I still have a few things to do…but I am grateful. I want you to know that.” Tallis turned to leave, but paused. “Before I go, I have to ask. Is it true you killed a Pride demon over a peanut butter sandwich?”

Hawke blinked, before turning to Varric. “_What are you telling people about me?_”

Tallis’s face fell. “So it’s not true?”

Hawke paused, thought about it, and then shrugged helplessly. “Tallis, so many weird things happen to me on a daily basis that I can’t keep track. It’s entirely possible that I did and just don’t remember it.”

Tallis smiled. “Take care of yourself, Hawke. Maybe we’ll meet again sometime.”

“Do you believe her?” Varric asked as Tallis departed. “That it was just about the innocents, I mean.”

“Not for a second,” Hawke replied. “Tallis is probably the worst Qunari I’ve ever met, but she’s loyal to their cause. And I don’t doubt that she was here on orders, not on her own initiative. But it’s not my responsibility to stop the Qunari. Not this time.”

—ROTC—

“Let me guess,” Cassandra said. “You haven’t seen Tallis since that day.”

“A safe assumption, given her nature,” Varric replied.

“And who is left to appease Orlais after a duke’s murder at the hands of the Champion of Kirkwall?” Cassandra demanded.

“Isn’t that just part of their ridiculous ‘Game’ they play? Or does an Orlesian’s murder only matter if someone from one of the inferior countries does it? Did I miss the part where Orlais’s pride became more important than anything else?” Varric asked. “Besides, Prosper invited it by dealing with Tal-Vashoth. Possibly under orders from Empress Celene. Imagine the scandal if _that _was known.”

“If you believe a Qunari agent.”

“Or a Chantry agent,” Varric said sourly. “But that’s the difficult part, isn’t it? I don’t know why Hawke really helped Tallis. Maybe she thought Tallis was cute. I suppose the elf did have her nose.” He shrugged. “Whatever the reason, I doubt it’s the last we’ve seen of her. But what do I know? I just tell stories.”

“We know when this incident took place, but we didn’t know the details,” Cassandra said. “But let us return to the events in Kirkwall itself.”

“Very well.”

—ROTC—

As usual, Isabela was on the bed, naked as the day she was born. "You ready for an unforgettable night, Kitten?"

Merrill grinned, moving to close the door. Hawke stepped out from the shadows and caught her by the wrist, and the elf yelped as the mage twisted Merrill's arm around, wrestling it so the elf's arms were crossed in front of her body, with Hawke pressed up behind her. "I understand someone besides me has been rutting in my bedroom!"

"You're not wrong," Isabela said helpfully from the bed.

"Hawke, I'm sorry, I should have told you," Merrill pleaded.

"Mm," Hawke purred into Merrill's ear. "Yes, you should have. That was rude, doing Isabela in my bed – without me!"

Merrill froze. "What?"

Hawke trailed her tongue along the shell of Merrill's ear, and the lithe mage shuddered, all but dissolving into her arms. "Tell you what. I won't be hurt...if I get to join in."

Merrill glanced over her shoulder at Hawke. "_What_?"

"I want to join," Hawke said, turning the elf loose. "I've had each of you...now I want _both _of you."

Isabela had stood up and crossed the room in three easy strides. Both Hawke and Isabela leaned in close, brushing their lips over Merrill’s ears and simultaneously moaning, “_Merrill_…”

The elf flinched, before turning on her heel and walking away several steps, one hand up in front of her mouth and her head down.

“Think we overdid it?” Hawke asked.

“Not sure,” Isabela admitted. “Is she shaking?”

“I think so. She’s…my goodness, she’s red as a cherry.”

“One or both of you needs to take me to bed,” Merrill said finally, reaching for the neckline of her tunic. “Now.”

"_Hello_, naked here," Isabela replied, cupping her own breasts invitingly, the gold studs at the tips glinting in the firelight. "If anything, you two are overdressed."

Hawke was tugging her boots off, before she scooped Merrill up and carried her towards the bed. "Help me get her out of this thing," the Champion called.

—ROTC—

“Varric, _again_?”

“You said you wanted to know everything,” Varric said defensively.

“Everything _relevant_.”

“This is vital to the story,” Varric protested.

Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose. “I doubt that. Just…skip ahead.”

—ROTC—

The trio collapsed in a tangle of sweaty limbs and body parts that heaved in interesting ways. "Now _that_ was worth the wait," Hawke declared, planting a kiss against Merrill's hip.

Merrill made a soft noise of agreement, nuzzling deeper into Isabela's cleavage. "Agreed. Isabela?"

The pirate was slowly stroking Merrill's back, the toy strapped to her waist still buried deep in Hawke. "Yes, Kitten?"

"Next time, could – there is going to be a next time, right?"

"There is if I have anything to say about it!" Hawke declared from between Merrill's thighs.

"Then, next time, could you..." Merrill flushed so deeply Hawke was amazed she wasn't pink from head to toe. "Could you wear your boots?"

Isabela grinned fiercely. "For you, anything."

Hawke managed to raise her head. "Oi, you never did that for me!"

Isabela stuck her tongue out at her. "You never asked."

—ROTC—

Cassandra threw her head back. “Andraste’s blood, Varric!”

“What?”

“I did not ask for an erotic tale! Save it for someone who cares! Get to the point! What happened at the Gallows? I need to know _those _details!”

Varric nodded his assent. “Hawke wasn’t just a hero to the people of Kirkwall. She was now the most important person in the city. Except for Knight-Commander Meredith, of course. With the viscount dead, she stepped in to ‘keep order.’ Things quickly got out of hand. She had no interest in matters of state, so matters important to the city at large went unattended. Instead, she devoted her attentions to consolidating her own power. The more she squeezed the mages, the more they resisted. The more they resisted, the tighter she squeezed. After three years of that, it all came crashing down.”

“When the mages rebelled,” Cassandra finished.

Varric scowled. “You still don’t get it, do you? You can’t expect an oppressed people to take abuse forever without fighting back. You push someone far enough and no matter how downtrodden they were to begin with, they _will_ push back. And until you accept the fact the fault does not lie with the abused for fighting back against their abusers, you’ll continue to be wrong about what happened.”

—ROTC—

With the restrictions the mages at the Gallows now faced, Hawke was more than a little surprised that First Enchanter Orsino had managed to make his way to the Viscount’s Keep, where he was addressing a crowd from the stairs. Almost as surprising was that the crowd was mostly nobles, as little could get so many of them in one place without the promise of free food and drinks.

“I know you fear us,” Orsino was saying. “Knight-Commander Meredith uses that fear to take control of your city! She opposes every effort to replace Viscount Dumar, and you have seen the chaos of her reign! Will you allow it?” Some of the crowd began making noises of agreement, and Hawke watched appreciatively from her spot off to the side, unnoticed.

Then Meredith began shoving her way through the crowd, several armored Templars in tow. “Return to your homes,” she barked. “This farce is over.”

Orsino’s face fell. “Wait! Perhaps there are some who might disagree with you, Knight-Commander.” He looked to Hawke, and the Champion stepped forward.

“The Champion has proven herself Kirkwall’s greatest defender,” Meredith said quickly. “I doubt that she favors sedition.”

“I don’t need you speaking for me, Knight-Commander,” Hawke replied dryly.

Meredith’s face tightened. “Is that so?”

“I think that the Champion’s views would be appreciated,” Orsino said triumphantly. “Or do you fear what she has to say?”

“Not at all,” Meredith replied. “Do you agree with the First Enchanter’s accusations, Champion?”

“The First Enchanter accused you of trying to take control of the city,” Hawke replied. “I’m having a hard time arguing with him.”

“The city,” Meredith scoffed. “I am trying to keep order until there is a ruler capable of succeeding where Dumar failed.”

“Dumar’s ‘failure’ was caused by a faction within the Chantry attempting to stir up the Qunari,” Hawke shot back. “And you _have_ had three years. Surely you could have found a successor for Dumar by now.”

“And if not?” Orsino demanded. “Will the Templars rule Kirkwall forever?”

“We will not stand idle while the city burns around us,” Meredith declared.

“Considering how many problems wind up on my doorstep because the Viscount’s office isn’t doing its job, I’m amazed the city isn’t literally burning as we speak,” Hawke replied.

“The Templar Order exists to guard the Chantry and the Circle,” Orsino said. “I suggest you let the nobility rule the city.”

“I do not need to let you or anyone to tell me what my duty is, _mage_,” Meredith spat.

“Perhaps you do,” Hawke said calmly. “You should not be ruling Kirkwall. It ill-suits the Chantry to take over the ruling of a city.”

“And yet I shall continue, until such a time as the city is safe,” Meredith replied.

“Do you see?” Orsino said. “She is incapable of reason! The people of this city need to know what is really happening!”

“And then what?” Meredith asked. “They tear down the Gallows with pitchforks and torches? That would be better?”

“It cannot be worse,” Orsino said. “Your refusal to listen to reason leaves me no choice.”

“What I refuse to listen to are your excuses! Perhaps you are ill-fit to your position if you cannot understand this.”

“You’re hardly receptive to whatever gets in your way,” Hawke commented.

“And I become less receptive each moment this nonsense continues.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “The point I’m trying to make is that your measures have become more extreme over the last three years.”

“And you could do better?” Meredith asked.

“Yes, but then so could _my dog_,” Hawke replied.

“How well did you guard your own mother?” Meredith asked. “Did she not die at a blood mage’s hands?”

Hawke's face went cold, and several Templars reached for their weapons as a crackling noise came from Hawke's fists. "Yes, she did. And since you have the unmitigated temerity to drag my late mother into _your _pissing match, let me remind you that the blood mage who took her life was not only outside the Circle, but also _never _found by the Templars – I killed him. And let me also remind you that I have the documents to prove that _you_ squashed the investigation and refused to let the one Templar interested in doing his job pursue leads regarding the murders."

“Cold corpses speak louder than abstract freedoms, do they not?” Meredith said, trying to appear sympathetic. “As long as that’s true, Kirkwall needs its Templars more than it needs a new ruler.”

“And when will that end?” Orsino asked. “When will you stop seeing evil in every corner?”

“When it’s no longer there.”

“And the Templars are only making the problem worse,” Hawke said. “Ruling Kirkwall and running the Circle are two separate affairs. There is no reason you should be handling both. Those freedoms you referenced are hardly abstract.”

“I will not sacrifice the well-being of innocents for the sake of a few mages! I will not!”

Hawke leaned back slightly, tilting her head. “So, mages aren’t innocents? They’re guilty simply by nature, then?”

“Temptation preys on every mage, no matter how noble their intentions,” Meredith said. “You know that as well as I do, Orsino.”

“Face the truth, Knight-Commander,” Orsino said fiercely. “You are done.”

“That is for me to decide,” Meredith said. “No one else!”

“The words of a tyrant,” Hawke replied. “Your intentions may be noble, Meredith, but you’ve gone too far.”

There were murmurs from the back of the crowd, and the people parted as Grand Cleric Elthina approached. “My, my, such a terrible commotion!”

“This mage incites rebellion, Your Grace,” Meredith said immediately. “I am dealing with the matter.”

“No, the matter is your takeover of the city,” Hawke interjected. “There’s no rebellion here. Merely people assuming power they are not entitled to.”

Elthina ignored her, turning on the First Enchanter. “Ah, Orsino. So frustrated. Do you think this is truly wise?”

“I…no, Your Grace,” Orsino ground out. Hawke’s jaw dropped. With a single question, Elthina had hamstrung him. Hawke had picked up on Orsino’s focus, not on the crimes Meredith was committing in the Circle, but against Kirkwall’s citizens and nobility. As an elf and a mage, Orsino was working from a place of weakness to begin with, but by questioning him so in front of the assembled nobility, Elthina had presented him with the dire choice of either agreeing with her and being silenced, or appearing as fighting against the Chantry itself.

“Of course not,” Elthina said sagely, turning to the Templars that flanked Meredith. “Young men, would you show the First Enchanter back to the Circle? Gently, if you please.” Hawke clenched her fists, giving Orsino an apologetic look as the Templars took position on either side of him.

“At least until he gets back to the Gallows, right?” Hawke spat before she could stop herself. “But that doesn’t happen in public view, does it.”

Neither Meredith or Elthina replied to her. Meredith instead was focusing on the Grand Cleric. “Your Grace! He should be clapped in irons, made an example–!”

“That’s enough, Meredith. This demeans us all, surely you can see that? Go back to the Gallows and calm down, like a good girl.” Meredith was incensed, but bowed and departed.

“First thing you’ve done to protect a mage since I’ve known you,” Hawke said. “Or does it only matter that she doesn’t do it where people who matter can see? You’ve done nothing to stop her from making Harrowed mages Tranquil, from locking them in their cells, from having her minions – excuse me, thugs – excuse me, _subordinates_ – beat them or anything else she pleases. Just so long as they don’t do it in public, right?”

“You have my thanks for stepping in, Champion,” Elthina said. “If you had not…”

“If I had not, Meredith would have executed him and gone on with business as usual,” Hawke replied. “And perhaps people would have seen how far over the edge she’s gone. You’re the Grand Cleric. Unless I missed something, you’re in charge of the Templars and the Circle!”

“Oh my, you have quite the estimation of my abilities!” Elthina said with a chuckle.

Hawke stared at her for a moment. “It’s _literally_ your job description.”

Elthina ignored her, turning to the crowd. “Gentle people of Kirkwall…return to your homes, I implore you. This will not be solved today.”

The crowd began to disperse, and Hawke closed her eyes, trying to exhale her frustration. “This will not be solved today,” she muttered. “Yeah, you’ve just made sure it won’t.”

“And now I must attend to the Gallows,” Elthina said, walking past her. “They will see reason, if the Maker wills it. Thank you again, Champion. I have a matter to discuss with you, if you would meet me in the Chantry this afternoon.”

Hawke glared at her back. “Of course, Your Grace.”

A woman in leathers was waiting not far away. “You were courageous to speak only against the knight-commander.”

“She’s the biggest threat to the city I’ve seen yet,” Hawke replied.

“Your words did not fall on deaf ears. Several nobles are discussing – quietly – what to do about Meredith.” She glanced past Hawke. “I cannot tarry here for risk of Templar spies. If you would make common cause with us, read this.” She shook hands with Hawke, subtly passing her a scroll.

“I could use all the allies I can get,” Hawke replied.

“Secrecy is paramount,” the woman said. “I’ll communicate by messenger if the need arises. Maker look after you, Hawke, and our fragile endeavor.”

Hawke glanced at the scroll when they were a safe distance away. “Looks like the Templars are stashing supplies in Darktown and have a kill squad in Lowtown.”

—ROTC—

“The First Enchanter overstepped his bounds!” Sebastian was saying as Hawke mounted the steps to the Chantry overlook.

“He was provoked,” Elthina replied calmly.

“The people want to know which side you favor,” Sebastian said. “It weakens you-”

“Strength will not win this fight, Sebastian,” Elthina interrupted. “If the Maker is merciful, He will help them find peace. We can only be waiting when they do.”

“Do you never intend to give a public answer, Your Grace?” Sebastian asked.

“What have I been asked?”

“About the mages! You could calm this fire if you stepped forward.”

“The Chantry’s teachings are clear,” Elthina said. “Those who turn against them would not listen more to me than to Andraste.”

“Except Andraste’s not here in person to tell them to stop acting like an ass,” Hawke interjected. “You are. Do something, or the Knight-Commander will tear Kirkwall apart.”

“I did not expect things to deteriorate so fast,” Elthina said. “I thought after the Qunari, no one would wish for more violence.”

“For people who only crave power, violence is a means to an end,” Hawke said.

“It has drawn more attention than I would like,” Elthina replied. “Sebastian, if I can ask?”

“Anything, Your Grace.”

“And the Champion, too, if you will?”

“Well, somebody’s got to handle problems, and the Chantry clearly has no interest in helping anyone, so…” Hawke forced a smile. “I can’t imagine any way _this _will go wrong.”

Sebastian gave her an exasperated look, before turning to Elthina. “What would you have of us?”

“The Divine is concerned about the situation here. She does not want to see the Free Marches become another Imperium.”

“And what reports is she getting, that she would think that would even be possible?” Hawke asked pointedly. “Even if every mage in the Gallows were freed today, it would be unlikely if not impossible for them to establish a situation like the Imperium.”

“The Templars have been reporting on the unrest among the mages here,” Elthina admitted.

“Reports which have to go through you,” Hawke countered. “And Maker forbid the abused want their abusers to stop abusing them.”

“She has sent an agent to…assess the danger. Meet with her, please. Tell her drastic measures won’t be required.”

Hawke’s eyes widened. “You’re talking about an Exalted March.”

“I am afraid so.”

Hawke’s first impulse was to punch the Grand Cleric in the face for allowing the situation to get so bad. Luckily, she went with her second impulse. “I don’t want to see the Divine’s armies march against Kirkwall.”

“Agreed,” Varric said. “Could we keep the Exalted Marching to a minimum? I keep all my stuff in Kirkwall.”

“Surely the Divine wouldn’t treat the whole city as enemies!” Sebastian protested.

“She is concerned,” Elthina replied. “It is never wise to draw the concern of the powerful.”

“It takes a special kind of stupid to believe that the best answer to this situation would be more Templars,” Hawke said.

Neither Chantry member acknowledged her statement. “She is the voice of Andraste,” Sebastian said. “She cannot turn the might of the Chantry against the innocent due to…proximity.”

“Were no innocents harmed in the Exalted Marches?” Elthina asked rhetorically. “She will do her best, Sebastian, but she must act first to protect the faith.”

“Strange to hear you say that, considering just a few years ago you felt that the lives of people were more important that their devotion to the Maker,” Hawke said.

“I did not say I agreed with her actions,” Elthina sighed. “Merely what her reasoning was. The Divine has heard my protests already about this.”

Hawke swallowed hard. “What can you tell me about this servant of the Divine?”

“I was not told her real name, only to call her Sister Nightingale. She is said to be the Divine’s left hand, sent to do the work that might blacken the Divine’s name.”

“Maker forbid the Chantry ever be seen doing something unsavory,” Hawke muttered, sighing. “This cannot wait.”

“Thank you,” Sebastian said. “We cannot allow this…ridiculous mage rebellion to turn into holy war.”

“There _is _no rebellion,” Hawke shot back. “But if the Templars keep pushing, there’s going to be an incident eventually!”

“Sister Nightingale will be waiting in the viscount’s throne room tonight. She wishes to remain…unseen. The room has been sealed since the Qunari incident. It may be difficult to get in without attracting attention.”

“Well, her remaining unseen is hardly my concern,” Hawke replied. “We’ll be there tonight.”

—ROTC—

Hawke was at the Keep at dusk, finding Aveline addressing a group of the guards. “Guardsmen! Duties for the week will be…”

“Lowtown canvass,” Brennan said. “Five on, three off.” Aveline nodded.

“City perimeter by twos, clear by second watch,” Donnic added. Another nod.

“Training recruits,” a third guardsman finished. “Full metal by week’s end.” This nod came with a hint of a smirk.

“Anything else, Captain?” Donnic asked.

“No. Thank you.” Aveline leaned against the edge of her desk as Hawke and her companions filed in. “Hawke. It’s…been a while.”

“It has,” Hawke said stiffly. “Your men look like they could give the Templars a run for their sovereigns.”

“They’ve had to,” Aveline said. “As long as there’s no viscount, the Order thinks they can bark at any man in uniform. I won’t have it. The people of Kirkwall need to see themselves in their guard. Lose that connection, we’re just targets. But I know you didn’t come here to ask about my guardsmen. What’s going on?”

Hawke glanced at Isabela, who casually shut the door to Aveline’s office. “There’s going to be a Chantry agent in the Viscount’s throne room tonight,” Hawke said. “I’m supposed to meet with her on behalf of the Grand Cleric. I need you and your guardsmen to stay away from there for tonight. I don’t particularly care about the secrecy, but if there’s too many guards about she may not show up.”

Aveline leaned back. “And I’m supposed to just trust you on this?”

“I’m not the one who’s consistently failed the other person here,” Hawke said. “I’ve never been anything but straight with you. The Divine is considering an Exalted March on Kirkwall.” Aveline’s jaw dropped. “Yeah. I’m trying to convince this agent that it won’t be necessary to burn Kirkwall to the ground. See it my way yet?”

Aveline heaved a sigh. “The Keep will be clear.”

—ROTC—

Hawke had picked up most of her companions, and they were waiting in a side room in the Keep. Quiet discussion was going on among the companions.

"Why do mages always use a stick or staff to do magic?" Sebastian asked. "What's so special about it?"

"There's a long, occult explanation," Merrill said. "But long story short, if you mis-cast, do you want a stick to explode, or your hand?"

Hawke unslung her staff, hooking it behind Sebastian's knees and yanking him off his feet. "Also good for hitting people," she added.

"She's right," Merrill said. "We carry staves because magic can go wrong in countless ways, but at the end of the day there are very few problems that can’t be solved by hitting them with a stick."

Isabela offered Sebastian a hand, pulling him to his feet. “Thank you, Isabela. It was nice to see you in the Chantry, listening to Sister Etheline's testimony. I was surprised, but very glad.”

“I was surprised as well, and not quite as glad.”

“Oh? Sister Etheline's words always inspire me. Was it not so for you?”

Isabela tilted her head. “You didn't notice I was bound, gagged, and had a contusion on my forehead?”

Sebastian stared blankly. “What?”

“Just... don't ask for the ‘bad girl special’ at the Blooming Rose.”

Anders spoke up as Isabela walked away. “How can you keep standing up for her?”

Sebastian looked over in confusion. “Who?”

“That doddering old biddy of a Grand Cleric.”

Sebastian’s jaw dropped. “How dare you! Elthina is everything a grand cleric should be. She's holy, wise…”

“Spineless... hesitant,” Anders interrupted. “She's clay in Meredith's hands.”

“In the face of danger, sometimes the bravest thing is to stand back and trust that the Maker will see justice done.”

“Well if doing nothing sums up your religion, then Elthina is perfect. Personally, I'd prefer a Chantry that favors action over sloth.”

“Don’t be too sure, Anders,” Hawke called. “After all, the Chantry is the one holding those mages prisoner.”

“The Circle is necessary,” Sebastian argued. “Magic is meant to serve man, and never…”

“Never to rule over him, yes, we’ve all heard that countless times,” Anders groaned. “But here’s a thought, maybe it’s not a choice between the Tevinter Imperium and the Gallows. Or does the idea that maybe your precious Chantry has made a mistake scare you too much to allow you to consider that?”

“He’s got a point,” Hawke said. “Besides, doesn’t the Chantry say that the Maker has turned away from us? Why would He be the one to see the justice done? We would have to do for ourselves. You have to take responsibility at some point. The worst betrayers are those who in times of great moral crisis maintain their neutrality. Even you must see that Meredith has overstepped her bounds.”

Sebastian didn’t reply, but looked deeply uncomfortable with Hawke joining Anders’ side of the argument. “It’s time,” Isabela said. “Let’s go meet this Sister Nightingale.”

The door to the throne room was unlocked, and Hawke’s party slipped inside quietly, fanning out and looking for any sign of the Chantry agent they were supposed to meet. With most of the sconces unlit – there was no point in the throne room being lit if there was nobody to sit on the throne – it was difficult to see more than a few feet.

Suddenly, the lights flared, and Hawke reached for her staff. “So, even the Divine fears us now,” a woman in mage’s robes called from where she sat, lazily perched on the Viscount’s throne. “She _should_.” She gestured toward Hawke’s party. “Kill the spies!”

There were only three of the enemy mages, but their leader quickly slashed her wrist and demons erupted through the Veil, complicating matters. Killing the demons took a bit longer, but when the last one fell, Hawke turned at the sounds of footsteps against the floor tiles. Two more mages were entering the room, only to be suddenly obscured by a cloud of smoke. The sounds of a scuffle came through the smoke, pained grunts and bodies hitting the floor. When the smoke cleared, a redheaded woman was standing over the corpses, sheathing a pair of daggers.

“The Resolutionists,” she said. “I might have known they would be part of this.”

Hawke’s jaw dropped. “Wait, _you_? You’re Sister Nightingale?”

Leliana inclined her head in greeting. “I am.”

“You know her?” Isabela asked.

“I met her at Prosper’s party,” Hawke said.

“Oh, we know each other from much farther back than that,” Leliana said with a sly smile.

Hawke stared at her a moment, before recognition sparked in her eyes. “Oh, Carver is going to _shit_ when he hears this.”

“You knew Daylen Amell, didn’t you,” Anders said calmly.

Leliana looked him up and down. “You are Anders, are you not? He spoke well of you.” Anders grunted noncommittally, and Leliana turned back to Hawke. “The Divine sent me to investigate the possibility of a rebellion here in Kirkwall. This is an…unconventional situation. I have some experience with those.”

Hawke was still blinking, trying to process the connections. “So, wait. You’re _the _Leliana, who fought alongside the Hero of Ferelden to slay the Archdemon? That same Leliana was a lay sister in the Lothering chantry?”

“The world is much smaller than it would seem, apparently,” Leliana said. “But that was many years ago. I am working for the Divine now, in Orlais. I had not thought to return to this part of Thedas.”

"Anders, what's the story with these Resolutionists?" Hawke asked.

Anders grimaced. "Each Circle of Magi has various fraternities of enchanters that serve as...sort of social outlets for mages. Like-minded people, people with the same philosophies on magic, come together to push their agendas. The Libertarians – the fraternity I was most closely associated with in belief if not activity – believed in greater freedom and responsibility for the mages."

"In belief if not activity?" Hawke echoed.

Anders gave her a twisted smile. "Do you really believe that the Chantry would allow such a thing to continue unless it suited them somehow? Many of the Libertarians secretly wished to split completely from the Chantry. The Chantry only allowed the group to continue in order to spot potential troublemakers. If you were a Libertarian, you guaranteed that you would be watched particularly closely by the Templars. Every so often one just up and vanished. Their way of telling us that they were watching."

“There have always been factions that support freedom from the Chantry and the abolition of the Circle,” Leliana said. “We have…tolerated them.”

“Yeah,” Anders scoffed. “Tolerated. Right.”

"All right, but what about these Resolutionists?"

"They're even farther out there than the Libertarians. The Resolutionists split off from them, open apostates who support mage freedom at all costs. They have engaged in acts of terror and sabotage against the Chantry throughout Thedas, and many are connected to Kirkwall's mage underground. They have declared that unless mages are freed to rule themselves, they will show every person in Thedas how little protection the Circle of Magi actually offers."

"Sounds like your kind of people," Varric commented.

Anders looked uncomfortable. "Not exactly. I agree with the idea of mages being freed or taken away from the yoke of Templar control, but...the Resolutionists aren't helping our cause. No revolution was ever enacted without bloodshed, but too many fear mages already to _scare_ people into setting them free."

“The Resolutionists have become violent,” Leliana added. “They are likely behind the unrest here.”

“Any ‘unrest’ can be laid at the feet of the Templars,” Anders spat. “They’re the ones causing the problem.”

Hawke nodded. “Agreed. Knight-Commander Meredith is running the city into the ground and breaking Chantry law. She’s turning Harrowed mages Tranquil, executing mages, condoning rapes and beatings.”

Leliana frowned. “We have had no reports of this.”

“Perhaps that’s because you get your reports from the Templars?” Hawke asked dryly. “Have you considered that maybe they’re telling you what you want to hear?”

“That will be investigated,” Leliana said. “The Divine has long suspected that Kirkwall’s problems were spurred by an outside group. This information may help change that, but the attack suggests she is right.”

“Like any mage with a brain can’t come up with ‘let’s rebel?’” Anders asked skeptically.

“Wait,” Hawke broke in. “Are you saying you set this whole thing up?”

“I let word slip that an agent of the Divine was coming to investigate the mage troubles,” Leliana explained. “It is how they chose to react which condemns them.”

“So you used us to manufacture evidence for your Exalted March,” Hawke spat. “Typical.” She took a slow breath, reining in her temper. “Please don’t do anything dire. We still have a chance for peace here. But as a citizen of this city and a witness to the abuses of the Templars, I am telling you, Knight-Commander Meredith needs to be replaced. Sooner rather than later. She’s assumed control of the city, refused to allow the election of a new Viscount, and is a danger to the mages and the city at large.”

“Divine Justinia takes the situation here very seriously,” Leliana replied. “She believes it is the worst threat to Thedas since the Qunari invaded.”

“Because one Circle’s worth of mages is being oppressed?” Anders asked incredulously. “Meredith’s already sent for the Right of Annulment! What more can they do?”

“_What?_” Hawke spun around, staring at Anders. “When was this?”

Anders faltered. “I’m not sure. Her flunky, Karras, was bragging about it in the Gallows courtyard. The messenger is on the way to Val Royeaux. That’s all I know.”

“We have not received word of this,” Leliana said.

“Well you wouldn’t have, yet,” Hawke replied. “And even if the Divine refuses permission, Meredith has already proven she has little regard for things like the law or common decency.”

“The whole world is watching Kirkwall,” Leliana said. “If it falls to magic, no ne of us are safe.”

“You’re not listening,” Hawke replied. “Magic is not the threat here. No mage is trying to take over.”

“It may be too late,” Leliana said. “Tell Elthina to leave. There is refuge for her at the Grand Cathedral in Orlais. She will not be safe here.”

“So nothing I said to you sank in, did it?” Hawke spat as Leliana turned to leave. “Nobody is threatening Elthina, since apparently she’s the only one in Kirkwall who matters. There is no threat to anyone in Kirkwall that doesn’t bear a flaming sword emblem. Justinia is seeing a rebellion where there is none. Get rid of Meredith and the situation can stabilize.”

“Not likely,” Anders said. “We know what they do when a Templar commits atrocities in a Circle. They kill the witnesses. Back in the Towers Age, in Antiva, the Knight-Commander Annulled a Circle to cover up a massacre by one of their Knight-Captains. They killed _everyone _to protect one of their own.”

Hawke gave him an irritated look. “Not _helping_, Anders,” Hawke hissed. She turned back, but Leliana was gone. “Well, this was a waste of an evening. She didn’t even listen to us. This could have been handled with a letter.”

—ROTC—

“Sister Nightingale says you must leave Kirkwall,” Hawke said flatly.

“What?” Elthina asked, flabbergasted.

“You were right,” Sebastian said. “The Divine will be taking action against Kirkwall, though the sister didn’t say what.”

“She used us to manufacture a justification for escalating the issue,” Hawke spat. “She didn’t listen to a sodding _word _I said.”

“You must take the holy relics from the chantry and leave for safety,” Sebastian urged.

“Sebastian! I’m surprised at you. Andraste would not thank me for saving a few dusty finger bones and my own skin at the cost of people’s lives. When I became grand cleric, I took a vow to the people of Kirkwall and the Free Marches. I will _not _leave my flock.”

“Would you let yourself die?” Sebastian asked.

“There is no greater devotion than to lay one’s life at the Maker’s feet,” Elthina quoted. “There is no better death than to take the blow for another.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “You’ve been warned. Do what you will.”

Sebastian made one last attempt. “Please, Your Grace. Sister Nightingale thinks there will be war.”

“Then, I must make peace,” Elthina replied. “Settle yourself, Sebastian. I’m in no personal danger. I am grand cleric – who would dare attack me?”

Hawke tilted her head, squinting at Elthina. “You do realize the Viscount’s son was murdered in cold blood _right there_, right?” She pointed to where she’d found Saemus’s body. “By a Chantry mother, no less. If you’re going to finally do something about the issue, that would be lovely. If not, _leave_.”

“If you will not shield yourself, then I will be your shield,” Sebastian declared. “You will come through this safely, by the Maker’s name. I swear it. If you won’t leave Kirkwall, neither will I. I can’t abandon you when the Divine’s own agent warned you away.”

“What about your people?” Hawke asked.

“They can wait,” Sebastian said dismissively. “Starkhaven hardly benefits if Kirkwall falls. But if these maleficarum rebel against the knight-commander, Elthina will put herself between them and be torn apart. I must try to make her see reason.”

Hawke held up a finger. “Hold up. First off, so far, Elthina’s done precisely _fuck-all_ to put herself between Meredith and _anybody_,” she said. Elthina raised an eyebrow at Hawke’s words, but did not interrupt. “Secondly, you alone are not going to keep the city from falling. That’s _my_ job, not yours.”

“It does not matter,” Sebastian said. “Grand Cleric, I swore myself to the Chantry once. I am doing so again. I’m giving it all up! I made a vow to the Chantry, and it was wrong to turn my back.”

“Sebastian, listen to yourself,” Elthina sighed. “You’re as impulsive now as the day you turned away from us. Do you think the Maker wants another rashly-spoken vow that you’ll abandon when the next passion takes you?”

“I will not…”

“This is your life, child,” Elthina chided. “Don’t spend it being blown about like a weathervane.”

“How long have you spent telling me to return to the Chantry?” Sebastian demanded. “And now that I want to, you won’t take me?”

“Perhaps she knows you don’t value your oaths,” Hawke said, adding more fuel to the fire.

Sebastian gave her an irritated look. “I know you don’t agree, but I can’t continue to break my oath. And for what? Why would I want to rule Starkhaven and deal with jackals like Lady Harimann for the rest of my life?”

“Because it’s your responsibility?” Hawke suggested. “You _ass?_ What part of that hasn’t sunk in yet? Do you see yourself as a prince or a priest?”

“That’s exactly the question I’ve been praying for guidance about,” Sebastian admitted. “When I think of going to Starkhaven, calling on allies like Flora Harimann and all the corrupt, scheming nobles, my throat swells shut in horror. When I think about staying, I’m at peace. I suppose I must convince Elthina that my commitment is sincere. Then I will remain here to represent the Maker’s interests as she thinks best.”

Hawke sighed. “And what about what’s right for your people?”

“I do not have hubris enough to imagine it matters to the common people who rules them. Kirkwall does well enough with no one in the viscount’s seat.”

“Yeah, because _I’m_ holding things together because nobody is properly doing the job of running this city,” Hawke shot back.

“Someone will take the reins,” Sebastian rationalized. “The fields will be planted, the crops gathered. No one will notice a Vael lives and isn’t there. And I can devote my life to the Maker’s will on Thedas.”

“And if the Maker’s will is for you to retake Starkhaven?” Hawke asked. “I can’t believe you’d turn your back on the city now, after all this.”

“I’ve been praying for guidance and had nothing.”

“Perhaps you should choose your own path instead of expecting someone to make the decision for you,” Hawke suggested pointedly.

“I cannot return to Starkhaven – and subject my people to war – without a clear sign that it is the will of the Maker."

Hawke looked at him incredulously. “What do you expect, an engraved invitation? Nobody gets a clear sign of _anything_, Sebastian. We do the best with the time that is given to us. If you can’t decide to take the city back without the Maker Himself telling you to, what good are you going to be as a ruler? Take some responsibility!”

“Perhaps you should as well, here in Kirkwall,” Sebastian said.

Hawke leaned back, surprised. “You want _me_ to be Viscount?”

“Andraste said ‘the Maker is king in the heavens, but it is the kings of Thedas who must recreate His worldly glory,’” Sebastian replied. “I keep thinking about that. Who better serves the Maker? A brother of the faith, or a prince who can sway a whole city?”

Privately, Hawke thought the idea of a ruler so indoctrinated by the Chantry to be a horrible one, but kept that to herself. “A prince can bring the word of Andraste to everyone under his rule, but his first priority must be the welfare of the city,” Hawke said diplomatically.

“Starkhaven needs me,” Sebastian said. “But I will not leave Elthina to the mercy of those apostates. We must put down their rebellion and solidify the Chantry’s hold. Then I can return to Starkhaven with a clean conscience.”

It was that moment, more than anything Sebastian had said before, that shifted him from a potential ally to a firm enemy in Hawke’s estimation. “Focus on Starkhaven,” Hawke said. “Your enemies are there, not here. The mages aren’t a threat to Elthina, and referring to the situation as a rebellion only heightens tensions.”

“They are defying Chantry law,” Sebastian said stubbornly. “That makes them rebels. I know you have sympathy for them, but surely you must see they can’t win.”

“Yes, I have sympathy for them,” Hawke replied icily. “You know, possessing a sense of human decency and all that. It must be pretty nice to be able to ignore the suffering of an entire group of people simply by concluding that they deserve it because of something they never chose to be.”

“Frankly, both sides are despicable. I wouldn’t leave Her Grace at the mercy of either.”

“Keep in mind that the Chantry is one of those sides,” Hawke said. “Elthina is responsible for Meredith’s actions. Don’t buy her neutrality act.”

“If you know better, perhaps you should take the Viscount’s seat,” Sebastian replied.

“I would, but that would validate the fears of everyone afraid of ‘Kirkwall falling to magic,’” Hawke said. “You know that as well as I do. The Templars would never stand for a mage in a position of power. Meredith barely accepts my being Champion.”

“It will be over soon, one way or the other.”

—ROTC—

Hawke, Anders, and Varric were kicking back in Varric’s suite in the Hanged Man, unwinding after the events in the Keep and the Chantry.

“What do you think of Choir Boy?” Varric asked. “You seemed to be disagreeing with him a lot back there.”

Hawke shrugged. “His approach is nothing new. I mean, you know me, I’m from a little backwater town. I’ve met a lot of people who say all the words in the right order without the faintest idea of what they mean. But him as a person? I honestly don’t care for him. He keeps acting like I’m remotely interested in hearing what he has to say. He’s gotten on all of us about praying away our problems, but he doesn’t seem to realize that he met us because he hired us to solve his problems by killing a bunch of people who were just hired to do a job for someone else. I get that his family were bastards and stuck him in the Chantry against his will and he only stayed because he felt he had no worth anywhere else, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s still claiming some sort of moral high ground. And he keeps asking me what he should do about Starkhaven like any of us care. Clearly if he’s been stuck on the decision for this long, he wouldn’t be worth a piss as a ruler. I keep pushing him to take the throne just to get him out of my hair.” Varric snickered. “And really, considering he comes from a life of wealth and privilege, I really couldn’t give less of a shit about what he thinks Anders, Merrill, or Fenris should do with their lives.”

“What about the Rivaini?”

Hawke grinned. “I like it when he tells her what to do, because then she makes a point of sinning more.”

“I didn’t need to know that,” Anders said, looking up from his book.

Hawke shrugged. “He asked.”

“Only because you deliberately left it out, knowing I would ask,” Varric pointed out.

“Because you wanted me to leave it out so you could ask so I could say that,” Hawke countered.

“Ah, but I only wanted you to leave it out so I could ask so you could say that because you wanted to say that in the first place,” Varric said. “You know?”

“I know.”

“I know you know.”

“I know you know I know.”

Anders closed his book. “You two are giving me a headache.”

“Just trying to unwind after that mess in the Keep,” Hawke said.

“If you think that was bad, I should tell you about the Blackmarsh,” Anders replied.

Varric chuckled. “See, when you say things like that, Blondie, it just makes me glad I didn’t know you sooner. Who goes to a place named Blackmarsh on purpose?”

“A Grey Warden with a knack for getting into trouble,” Anders replied. “And for dragging people along with him. Apparently, it was already named the Blackmarsh before the entire village built there vanished overnight. You would think they would have picked a better name.”

“Now, if they called it _Beermarsh_…” Varric paused, making a face. “No, still doesn’t work.”

“You’ve got a point,” Anders said. “The ‘marsh’ part does cancel out anything else. Flowermarsh? Kittenmarsh? Nope. No good.” He sighed. “You know why I’m here.”

“Do I?” Varric said with a smirk. “If you've got something to say, just spit it out.”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to encourage me? I might be about to confess my undying love.”

“I get that a lot. So what's on your mind?”

“I just realized it's been a while since any of the gangs in the Undercity came to my door.”

Varric shrugged. “They're busy people. Places to go, throats to cut. Maybe you've slipped their minds.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “Right. The apostate running the free clinic in the sewers. Easy to forget. You didn't have anything to do with this?”

“You must have me confused with someone else! I'm just a businessman and a storyteller.”

“You lying bastard,” Anders said, his smile taking the bite out of his words. “If you’re intervening, couldn't you talk to Gallard for me? He likes you.”

“I told you not to play that last hand,” Varric said.

“Yes, but I did it anyway, and now the Coterie has an IOU for my right ear.”

Varric waved him off. “Gallard won't collect on that. He's got enough ears of his own.”

“You didn't hear him admiring mine all night. And saying that he's always wanted a hat made of human ears. And calling a hatter.”

Varric paused a moment. “Look on the bright side, losing your ear will add to your tortured look. Some women really like that.”

Anders shook his head. “I’m getting out of here.”

“Don’t leave, it’s just getting funny,” Hawke said.

Anders pouted at her. “You’ll help save my ears, won’t you?”

“Of course. And then we’ll get you that cat you’ve been talking about getting.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a great idea,” Anders admitted.

“Changed your mind? You a dog person now?”

“I just…can’t be too careful,” Anders said, glancing out at the main room of the Hanged Man. “Can’t have too many dependents, now that the knight-commander has basically appointed herself Viscount.”

“I hear that,” Hawke said. “She’s just waiting for the first legitimate excuse to drag me off to the Circle. Or have me quietly killed.”

“You’re our one hope,” Anders replied. “The Champion of the city, an open apostate. But it’s not enough.”

“I know,” Hawke said. “We got a few mages out of the Gallows, but there are still so many there.”

“And worse, the mage underground is all but destroyed,” Anders said. “And those left have turned to blood magic as their only option. Which Meredith knows will prevent any chance of the public taking their side.”

“There’s still us,” Hawke said.

Anders looked away. “I don’t know how you continue to believe in me. How can people be so blind? A mage saved all of us from the Blight!” He paused, huffing out a laugh. “You know he managed to force the Chantry to hand over my phylactery? He’s the only reason I haven’t been hunted down by the Templars.”

“Impressive,” Hawke said. “How did he manage that?”

“Blackmail, mostly,” Anders replied bluntly. “Templars attacked us – in defiance of a royal order allowing my Conscription into the Grey Wardens – and Daylen used that as leverage to force the Chantry to give up my phylactery.” Anders sighed. “You remind me of him, actually. He’d give up a tremendous advantage just to help one of his own. But even with all he did for me, it doesn’t make much of a difference. The Chantry set us all on this path long ago. It would take something truly catastrophic to change people’s thinking now.” He glanced out the door again. “I should go. There are probably patients waiting for me in Darktown.”

“Come up for dinner tonight, yeah?” Anders nodded, leaving quietly.

With the healer gone, Varric looked to the Champion. “So what brings you here, Hawke?”

“Just a social visit,” Hawke said. “And I was hoping we could go pry Merrill out of that house in the alienage.”

Varric sighed. “Yeah, she’s been in there a few days now.” He pushed himself to his feet, slinging Bianca across his back. “Let’s go.”

Hawke rolled her eyes as she found the door unlocked again. Not that Merrill couldn’t handle anything that came through the door, but it was bad practice to leave your door unlocked. Merrill was in front of the eluvian, as Hawke was sure she had been for days now.

“Come on, Daisy,” Varric urged. “You’ve been holed up in here for days. You shouldn’t be stuck in this rat-trap. And if you don’t get some sunshine, you’ll wilt.”

“I’m not a plant, Varric,” Merrill said archly. “I’m fine.”

“Just take a walk around the Lowtown market,” Varric pleaded. “Get some air, and I’ll stop bothering you.”

“I…know you mean well,” Merrill replied. “But I have too much to do right now.”

Varric leaned his head back, groaning. “I’ll let you talk some sense into her, Hawke.”

Merrill perked up, turning around. “Hawke? I didn’t realize you were here.”

“What happened to ‘home before dark, I promise?’” Hawke asked quietly. Merrill winced. “You know, what you said the last time I saw you? _Three days ago?_ If it weren’t for Varric and his insistence on keeping tabs on everyone in Kirkwall, I’d be worried sick.”

“Varric is…very sweet,” Merrill said. “Frequently infuriating and a terrible busybody, but sweet. I didn’t mean to worry you, Hawke.”

Hawke pulled her close, planting a kiss on her tattooed forehead. “I wanted to see how you were doing, Merrill. I know you come down here to work on your eluvian. I don’t mind that. What I do mind is you disappearing like that for days at a time and refusing to come out.”

“I…thought it was better that I stay here,” Merrill said.

“Why?”

“It’s…” Merrill sighed, then gestured at the chairs in the front room of her house. The two sat, and Merrill rested her face in her hands. “In the market the other day, out of the corner of my eye…I thought I saw Tamlen. I blinked, and he was gone. I don’t know what it meant. Maybe nothing. Maybe I’m going mad. I miss them all. Even the Keeper.”

“We can go visit them, you know,” Hawke offered. “The Keeper would probably like to see you again.”

“I’m sure she would,” Merrill said. “She loves to lecture. I bet her new First appreciates that. I wish I could have seen…” She shook her head, looking up. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now. Maybe Varric was right. Shall we go out for a bit? I could use some sunshine.”

“Come on, then.”

—ROTC—

_Anders - The Last Three Years  
After his attack on Ella, Anders lost interest in the cause of mage revolution. Convinced he was no better than an abomination, Anders was determined to gain mastery over the spirit inside him... or die trying. It is increasingly apparent that he is losing this struggle. Prone to wild mood swings between deep melancholy and manic determination, Anders has again taken up the mantle of mage freedom—though it is unclear whether this decision came from Anders or Justice._

_Hawke's status as Champion has protected Anders from the attention of the Templars, despite his increasing notoriety. Between Hawke and Varric's attentions, Anders has managed to retain some sense of stability in his life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	21. Haunted by the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several companions have their past come back, and some make steps for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.
> 
> I try to keep my opinions to myself most of the time regarding real-life events, but in the midst of a global pandemic that has been completely and comprehensively mishandled by the fuckwit my country somehow elected and protests against racism and police violence being attacked by an overzealous and heavily militarized police force, I'm just trying to look for the good in things. Being mixed-race myself I've encountered some racism in my life, but I'm white-passing enough that I generally come off as a citizen instead of a target to cops. I just hope that everyone is being as safe as they can amidst these protests, and that maybe things will actually change for the better.

_Merrill - The Last Three Years  
"If you hadn't come to Sundermount that day... I can't imagine where I'd be now."_

_Merrill moved into Hawke's Mansion in Hightown ― and not as a servant, much to the horror of the neighbours. She further scandalized the neighborhood by wandering around with no shoes on, picking the flowers out of other people's gardens, and cooing cheerfully at their attack dogs. Several angry letters were sent to the Champion and the seneschal, but the situation remains unchanged._

_She continues to return to her ramshackle house in the alienage, spending a great deal of time working on her mirror._

—ROTC—

“I’m not sure what worries me more,” Hawke said. “The fact that we’re searching for a Templar kill-squad that’s been ‘purging’ mage sympathizers in Lowtown, or the fact that the people are so scared of the Templars that nobody will admit to having seen them.”

Anders nudged Hawke. “There.” Several Templars in the next hex were accosting a woman outside of her home, and the hex was mostly deserted as everybody not involved did their best to not be a witness.

“Mercy, ser, mercy!” the woman was pleading. “I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“You harbored a known apostate,” the lead Templar said coldly.

“Wh-what crime is feeding my cousin?” the woman demanded. “She was whipped, half-starving.”

“It is a crime against the Maker,” the lead Templar replied. “The sentence is…”

“Death,” Hawke finished. “Your sentence is death. The _real_ crime against the Maker is harming innocents.”

“Intruders,” the lead Templar spat. “Deal with them!” He screamed as Hawke set him on fire, and the Champion staggered as she suddenly found herself cleansed, her mana draining away.

“Mage!” One of the other Templars screamed moments before Isabela’s daggers sank into his kidneys, up under his cuirass.

Hawke managed to knock a Templar’s helmet off, before braining him with the end of her staff. Merrill froze a Templar stiff long enough for Fenris to cut him down as Hawke downed a lyrium potion and fell back to regroup.

Varric had dropped the two archers the Templars had brought along and was taking careful aim again, downing the Templar Isabela was dueling with a shot through the eyeslit of his helmet. The pirate gave him a smirk, before she pounced on a Templar that was menacing Merrill and slitting his throat.

“I thought…I thought I was dead,” the woman said. “I just let her stay the night. This is madness!”

“You did nothing wrong,” Hawke said. “Meredith is insane and corrupt, and she’s surrounded herself with people just like her.” The woman fled into her home, and Hawke shrugged. “You’re welcome. Varric?”

“I’ll get this cleaned up, and I’ll keep an eye on her,” he promised. “Make sure there isn’t a follow-up.”

—ROTC—

Raiding the Templar cache in Darktown was far easier, between numerous people who owed their health to Anders and Isabela cutting down three Templars before they even knew Hawke’s group was there. “Why would Meredith be caching supplies in Darktown, anyway?” Hawke wondered aloud. “She practically owns the city. It’s not like they need to hide their supplies.” She examined the crates. “Armor replacements, some preserved food, medical supplies, lyrium rations…” She glanced at Anders. “I think your clinic could use a donation.”

Hauling the supplies to Anders’ clinic didn’t take long, and the mages divvied up the lyrium between them. The potions were invaluable in a fight, and getting lyrium by any means had become harder and harder as the years went on.

That evening, Hawke received a letter from the noble who had given her the information on Meredith’s activities. Hawke gathered her trustworthy companions and they set out for Lowtown.

“We cannot stand idly by as Meredith oversteps herself at every turn,” the woman said. “We shall have a viscount again and return sanity to Kirkwall!”

“This course is foolhardy,” another noble protested. “The knight-commander will kill us all.”

“Edgert, you do yourself no credit,” a third said. “My father and grandfather both died defending Kirkwall from aggressors. Meredith is no different. Hawke, Lady Selbrech, you have my sword.”

“Sedition is a very serious crime,” a Templar called, entering the square with a number of others. “The knight-commander cannot tolerate disloyalty.”

“I warned you,” Edgert said. “I had to tell them!”

“Traitor,” Lady Selbrech spat before she cut the man down. A Templar arrow skittered off her armor, and the hex dissolved into chaos, leaving the survivors blood-splattered but alive and another pack of Templars dead. “This attack will cement their conviction,” Selbrech said. “When the time comes, you will have our aid.” She glanced to her compatriots. “We must go before reinforcements arrive.”

—ROTC—

Hawke found Fenris pacing back and forth in the dining room of his mansion the next day, Aveline sitting at the table. “Are you certain it’s her?” he demanded.

“An elf, matching your description, and the ship you named,” Aveline replied. “And alone, as far as I could tell.”

Fenris slammed his hands down on the table. “I need to know if it’s a trap!”

“I did as you asked, Fenris,” Aveline said, standing up. “Now it’s up to you.” Hawke didn’t acknowledge her as she passed by. “You talk to him, Hawke. I’ve had my fill for today.”

“_Venhedis_,” Fenris swore. “_Fasta vass!_”

Hawke reached out to him, and Fenris pulled away slightly. Hawke left her hand out for a moment, before dropping it. “Easy, Fenris. Maybe I can help. What’s going on?”

Fenris blew out an irritated breath. “It’s my sister. I didn’t tell you, but I followed up on Hadriana’s information. Everything she said was true.” Hawke’s eyes widened. “I had to keep it quiet, but I eventually contacted Varania and sent her coin enough to come meet me. And now she’s here.”

“She was in Qarinus after all?” Hawke asked.

“My sister left Magister Ahriman’s service, and I found her in Minrathous. That made things more difficult. But according to the men I paid, it’s just as Hadriana said. She’s not a slave. She’s a tailor, in fact.”

“Wow. I expected Hadriana to have been lying out her ass,” Hawke remarked.

“So did I,” Fenris admitted. “Getting a letter to Varania was difficult, and she didn’t believe me at first, but she’s come to Kirkwall.”

“And you’re worried Danarius knows,” Hawke finished.

“The more it seems he doesn’t know, the certain I become that he does!”

“That’s understandable,” Hawke said. Fenris blinked in surprise. “She was in Minrathous, so she was at least in the same city as him. Danarius had to know that you had siblings, and with Hadriana dead, he had to suspect that you killed her, maybe extracted information from her. Varania is a possible lead on you. You were exchanging letters, so if he had any idea that you were in contact…” Hawke rubbed her chin. “And Aveline wasn’t going to help find out if a Tevinter magister who has been hunting you for years is here as well? That’s about what I expected from her. Where are you thinking about meeting Varania?”

“The Hanged Man,” Fenris said. “It’s got multiple exits, and I know the layout.”

Hawke nodded. “Would you mind if I came along? I won’t intrude if it’s not a trap, but…”

Fenris looked at her for a moment, before his mouth quirked up into a smile. “I was about to ask, Hawke. I can’t simply leave it like this. I have to know.”

“Fenris, something like this, you don’t even need to ask,” Hawke said. “I’ll be there, we know Isabela and Varric will at least be in the building. With the four of us, we can handle anything that can make it through the doorway.”

“This means a lot to me.”

Isabela was in her usual place at the bar, Varric lounging in a chair in the corner with Bianca close at hand. Hawke was at Fenris’s back as they entered the pub, a redheaded elf sitting alone at a table. Varric pointed her out, and the elf looked up as Hawke and Fenris approached. She had the same green eyes as Fenris. “It really is you.”

Fenris’s eyes widened. “Varania?” He paused, staring for a moment. “I…I remember you. We played in our master’s courtyard while Mother worked. You called me…”

“Leto,” Varania said, standing up. “That’s your name.”

Hawke had been watching the two, but suddenly felt a prickle in the air, glancing around and noticing far fewer people in the room than she had expected. Corff was pale, and his eyes flicked towards the stairs. Isabela silently set her cup down, reaching for her knives as Varric’s hand inched closer to Bianca’s stock. “What’s wrong?” Fenris asked. “Why are you so…?”

“Fenris, we have to get out of here,” Hawke warned.

“Ah, my little Fenris,” a silky voice called from the top of the stairs. “Predictable as always.” The man wore gray mage’s robes and had several armored men at his back.

“That Danarius?” Hawke asked quietly. Fenris nodded mutely. “Hm. I never pictured him with a beard.”

Varania seemed almost apologetic. “I’m sorry it came to this, Leto.”

Fenris’s eyes widened momentarily, before narrowing into slits. “_You led him here_.”

“Now, now, Fenris,” Danarius tutted. “Don’t blame your sister. She did what any good Imperial citizen should.”

“I never wanted these filthy markings, Danarius,” Fenris spat. “But I won’t let you kill me to get them.”

Danarius chuckled. The sound made Hawke feel like she needed a bath. “Oh, how little you know, my pet.” He looked to Hawke. “And this is your new mistress, then? The Champion of Kirkwall? Quite lovely.”

“Just so you know,” Hawke said brightly, “he’s going to rip out your entrails and make you wear them as a hat.”

“No he won’t,” Danarius said calmly. “He’s going to come with me, as any slave should.”

Fenris flared blue. “_I am not your slave, Danarius!_”

The magister sighed. “The word is ‘master.’” His lieutenant took a bolt through the throat immediately, and Isabela was among the others in a flash, her knives striking as Hawke blasted Danarius through an oak table with a force spell. His arm snapped on impact, the broken bone spearing through the skin, and blood spattered the floorboards. It sizzled into smoke a moment later, and shades erupted through the Veil, a Rage demon roaring as it manifested only to be frozen out of existence a moment later.

“Yeah, I’ve seen all this before,” Hawke deadpanned, casually crushing a pair of shades with a downwards blast of force. “Demons, shades, it’s all gotten a bit old.” She offhandedly parried a swipe from another shade, leaning back casually as one of Varric’s bolts flew by and speared the attacking shade through its single eye. “What else you got?”

Fenris had left roughly half of Danarius’s men in pieces by that point, and rounded on the magister, his sword dripping blood. Several of the less-dismembered guards rose again, their corpses animated by Danarius’s blood magic, and Hawke and Fenris shared a grim nod before both moved as one, tearing into the corpses with steel and spells.

A few moments later, the two turned back to Danarius, who was looking considerably less smug. “I said,” Hawke hit him in the gut with another pulse of force, knocking him backwards over a chair with less dignity than the man probably would have preferred as Fenris advanced on him, “_what else you got_? Because if that’s all you’re bringing to this fight, it’s not nearly enough.”

Fenris flared blue again, seizing Danarius by the throat and lifting him off the ground with one hand. “_You are no longer my master_,” he snarled, before his hand slid through Danarius’s skull and a gout of blood exploded from his clenched fist. He dropped the nearly-headless body, standing still for a moment and taking a deep breath.

Hawke winced, leaning over the corpse. “Bet that stung a bit, didn’t it? That’s what you get when you screw with my friends!” She glanced over, seeing Fenris advancing on Varania. “Fenris?”

“I had no choice, Leto,” Varania insisted.

“_Stop calling me that_.”

“He was going to make me his apprentice,” Varania said. “I would have been a magister.” Hawke grimaced.

Fenris rocked back as if she had struck him. “You sold out your own brother to become a magister?”

“You have no idea what we went through,” Varania said tearfully. “What I’ve had to do since Mother died. This was my only chance.”

“And now you have no chance at all,” Fenris said grimly, blue starting to flare around him.

“Please, don’t do this,” Varania begged, looking frantically to Hawke. “Please tell him to stop!”

“He’s not my slave,” Hawke said. “Fenris, wait. Please. Don’t kill her.”

“Why not?” Fenris demanded. “She was ready to see me killed. What is she to me other than just one more tool of the magisters?”

“This is your family, Fenris.” She eyed Varania for a moment. “Shitty family, but family nonetheless. I know what it’s like to lose a sister. Believe me, you don’t want to feel that. It may seem like the right thing to do now, but…you can’t un-kill someone.”

Fenris paused, closing his eyes, his chest heaving, still glowing blue. Hawke held her breath, knowing that if he decided to kill Varania anyway, there was nothing she could do to stop him. Finally, the glow faded. “_Get out_.”

Varania ran for the door, only to stop at the exit. “You said you didn’t ask for this, but that’s not true. You wanted it. You competed for it. When you won, you used the boon to have Mother and me freed.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Freedom was no boon,” Varania said. “I look on you now and I think you received the better end of the bargain.” She left without another word, and Fenris sagged into a chair, setting his sword point-first against the floor. Hawke perched on the remains of the table she had blasted Danarius through, watching her friend silently.

“I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging, but I was wrong,” Fenris admitted. “Magic has tainted that too. There is nothing for me to reclaim. I am alone.”

“Are you?” Hawke asked. “I see three people here who were there for you when it counted.” She turned to Varric. “Any regrets about getting involved in this?”

“No,” Varric scoffed. “This is going to make a great story.”

“I certainly don’t regret it. Isabela?”

The rogue was on her knees by the bar. “Blast it, Hawke, you spilled my drink!”

Hawke shrugged. “Well, two out of three. We’re here for you, Fenris. You don’t have to reclaim the past to build the future. You belong just fine.” She put a hand on his shoulder, and this time he didn’t shy away.

“Maybe it’s time I stop being so angry,” Fenris said.

Hawke shrugged. “Yeah, but what would you do with all your free time?” Fenris snorted out an undignified laugh, clapping a hand over his face.

—ROTC—

“So why are we here?” Anders asked the next day.

“I was sent a letter requesting my help,” Hawke explained. “Figured since it was daylight, we were probably safe from an ambush this time.” Varric rolled his eyes.

“Serah Hawke?” A voice called.

The group turned more or less as one, and Anders’ eyes widened in recognition. “Delilah.”

“Old girlfriend?” Hawke asked.

“Sister of an old friend,” Anders replied, not taking his eyes off the woman. “Hawke, this is Delilah Howe, current Bann of Amaranthine. Delilah, it’s been a long time. This is Dana Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall.”

Delilah nodded a greeting, speaking hurriedly. “Mistress Hawke, I must speak with you. You’re the only one that can help.”

“I find myself in that position frequently,” Hawke said. “What happened?”

“The Wardens mounted an expedition to retrace your route through the Deep Roads to discover whatever it is you found years ago,” Delilah explained. “It’s a fool’s errand, and my poor brother is with them – Nathaniel Howe.”

“Nathaniel’s with them?” Anders asked, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Well, put me in a dress and call me a Templar. How is the old boy doing?”

“He’s missing, serah,” Delilah said irritably. “Haven’t you been listening?”

“I’m not worried about Nathaniel,” Anders replied. “He’s crawled out of worse places alive.”

“This Nathaniel’s a Grey Warden as well?” Hawke asked.

Anders nodded. “We were recruited less than a day apart, fought in the Wardens in Amaranthine together. Hordes of darkspawn, dragons, kidnappings, bandits, unspeakable horrors, the usual Warden business.” He paused. “I wonder if Nathaniel ever found a sense of humor?”

Hawke shared a confused look with Delilah. “Why were the Grey Wardens interested in our expedition?”

“Maker help me, I have no idea. My brother never tells me these things.”

“I could make a few guesses, but nothing certain,” Anders said. “We went pretty deep on that expedition, deeper than even Wardens usually go. We also found a relatively intact thaig. The Warden-Commander was mapping out the Deep Roads, building goodwill with the dwarves. Or it could just be on a lark.” He frowned. “How long has the expedition been gone?”

“Three weeks tomorrow,” Delilah said.

Hawke winced. “Even traveling slowly, they should have been back by now.”

“I would tell the Wardens, but by the time I reach Vigil’s Keep…” She shook her head. “My poor brother.”

Hawke sighed. “We’ll leave as soon as we can. If you need a place to stay, go to my estate and tell Bodahn I sent you. He’ll put you up until we return.”

They left that afternoon, traveling as light as possible. With the maps in hand, they made their way through the Deep Roads quickly, finding few live darkspawn along the way. As they re-entered the thaig, Anders held up a hand, catching Hawke’s attention. “There’s darkspawn about. Plenty. Might be the Warden expedition too.”

Fenris led the way through the next doorway, his greatsword sweeping through a pair of hurlocks as he caught them from behind. Hawke and Anders unleashed lightning as Merrill finished the critically injured hurlock Fenris wasn’t currently stabbing with a spirit bolt.

Varric whistled, pointing to a single archer drawing and loosing arrows faster than anyone Hawke had ever seen. “Got a survivor.”

“Let’s make sure he stays that way,” Hawke said. Isabela and Fenris began carving their way towards the man, who was amassing a large field of dead darkspawn in front of him. The last one fell, and he nocked another arrow, scanning for targets. “Nathaniel Howe?” She raised her staff as the man wheeled about, half-drawing before he realized that they weren’t darkspawn.

“You’re the Champion of Kirkwall, aren’t you?” Nathaniel said. His voice was raspy and hoarse, but the man seemed alert enough. His eyes flicked to Anders, and his mouth opened slightly in surprise. “And…Anders?”

"Hello, Nathaniel," Anders said quietly. “Making friends as always, I see.”

The archer stared at him for a moment, before breaking into a heartfelt smile. "I'm not even going to _ask _what you're doing here."

"Following her," the mage replied, pointing at Hawke. "She gets me into almost as much trouble as Daylen ever did."

Nathaniel's grin widened. "Well, at least you're having fun."

"Loads," Anders said coolly. "Fought any broodmothers lately?"

"What's a broodmother?" Hawke asked.

"Oh, _let me tell you_," the healer said.

"Please don't," Nathaniel interjected. "It's...not a pretty picture. Just...don't ever let yourself or another woman get captured alive by darkspawn. There’s no escaping you, it seems."

“I’m special that way.”

“That is one way to put it,” Nathaniel quipped.

“Delilah sent us,” Hawke broke in. “She was worried about you. She said you followed my expedition’s route. Why?”

“You went further into the Deep Roads than most, further than most even believed possible,” Nathaniel explained. “The First Warden himself ordered this investigation.”

“And Daylen didn’t tell him to screw off?” Anders asked. “Last I heard, they didn’t exactly get along.”

Nathaniel’s eyes flicked to Hawke momentarily. “Daylen is…less involved these days. He’s working on a personal matter.”

Anders’ eyes narrowed, before he nodded in understanding. “He’s been doing some traveling?”

“I think you know he has,” Nathaniel said cryptically.

“Yes, I do.”

“Are Wardens always this vague?” Hawke asked in exasperation. “Why you?”

“He’s the Warden-Constable of Ferelden,” Anders said. “Second-in-command of all the country’s Grey Wardens.”

“I was offered a generous share of the salvage, plus extra coin up front to discourage any…curiosity,” Nathaniel explained, moving about the area and retrieving his arrows. Anders knelt over a corpse, checking for a pulse and shaking his head.

“It looks like you met heavy resistance,” Hawke said, looking around. “There weren’t nearly this many darkspawn about when we were here. But then, that was soon after the Blight.”

“After the Warden-Commander killed the Architect, we thought it would be decades before the Deep Roads would be infested again. Especially with the patrols and raids we’ve been staging.”

“Who’s the Architect?”

“Don’t ask,” Anders warned. “It’s a long and disturbing story.”

“The Warden’s dwarven allies and the Marcher Wardens assured us these tunnels would still be mostly clear. But it seems they were wrong.”

“I don’t remember drawing anyone a map to the thaig,” Hawke said. “In fact, we specifically avoided giving out the path we took. Who told you about it?”

“An unfortunate dwarf named Bartrand. We weren’t sure his information was reliable, but contacting you or Varric was deemed risky. We feared you might return if you learned of our interest in the thaig.”

“The last time I was here, my brother wound up catching Blight sickness and had to join the Grey Wardens,” Hawke said. “Why would I ever want to come back to this place?”

“In hindsight, reaching out to you would have been simplest,” Nathaniel replied. “But the orders for secrecy came from the First Warden.”

“Are you all that’s left?” Anders asked. “I count three dead Wardens here, and you. Standard expedition size is six Wardens, plus specialists.”

“When we were attacked, we were separated from the others,” Nathaniel replied. “They may yet live. They were deeper in the tunnels.”

“Well then, let’s go.”

“Crawling through Blight-infested tunnels, rescuing Wardens in peril?” Sebastian said. “This is what I signed on for.”

“Stay alert for darkspawn,” Nathaniel said, leading the way deeper into the tunnels. “Anders and I can sense them, so we’ll try to give you some warning.”

Nathaniel’s archery was impressive, the man putting out a rate of fire that rivaled Bianca without compromising accuracy. With the entire party in the fight, encounters were brief, violent, and unanimously ended in favor of the Warden-Champion team. They reached an open section of the Deep Roads, and Anders peered into the half-light, before nudging Varric. “There’s an ogre out there. Weak points are the heart and brain, best hit through the eyes. A silver says you can’t make the shot.”

Varric snorted, winding Bianca up. “You’re on, Blondie.”

“Do you really believe he can’t make that shot?” Hawke asked.

“I win either way,” Anders said with a shrug as Varric fired, and a pained roar echoed off the walls, followed by a massive thud.

“Master Howe, you live,” a voice said from the shadows. A dwarf emerged, clutching a looted mace.

“Temmerin,” Nathaniel said. “Good man! Are there any other survivors?”

“Hopefully up ahead,” Temmerin replied. “I got separated from the others by that ogre. Got away by ducking into an alcove, it couldn’t reach me. I set up some explosives ahead before the ogre came along. Figured I’d blow a few of the ‘spawn up before I embraced the Stone.”

“How did you manage to get Qunari explosives?” Hawke asked.

“These aren’t Qunari explosives,” Temmerin said archly. “They’re dwarven-made, and don’t you forget it.”

“Temmerin’s cousin Dworkin made the explosives back in Vigil’s Keep,” Nathaniel explained.

“Aye, and that he did, before the sodding Qunari forced him into hiding.”

“What were you doing with these explosives?”

“We were prepared to do extensive excavations around the thaig,” Nathaniel said. “They’re particularly efficient at clearing rubble.” He turned back to the dwarf. “The way behind us is clear. Send word to the Wardens in case we don’t make it.”

“We’ll make it,” Hawke said casually.

More darkspawn fell to their blades, magic, and some explosive barrels carefully triggered by Varric’s incendiary bolts. The first detonation knocked everyone except Anders and Nathaniel off their feet, after which the others were far more careful about keeping their distance from the barrels.

They found the survivors in an antechamber, and Hawke groaned as she recognized the bladework of the surviving Warden warrior. Anders set to healing a wounded Warden, the man picking up a dropped shield and giving him a grateful nod. “Can’t keep yourself in one piece, can you, Rowland?”

“Good to see you, Anders,” the man replied. “Keeping busy?”

Hawke ignored the byplay, heading to the other Warden. “Carver, you came _back_ here?”

Her brother rolled his eyes as he recognized her, but he couldn’t stop the smile. “Well, just like old times. Still coming to the rescue after all these years? I have it under control, but thanks.” Hawke made to hug him, but Carver backed up. “Keep your distance. I’ve got darkspawn blood on me.”

“You know each other?” Nathaniel asked.

“She’s my sister,” Carver said. “Dana Hawke. Champion of Kirkwall, now.”

Nathaniel paused, before wincing. “Ah. Right. I should have realized there was a reason the Marcher Wardens assigned you as a liaison.”

“We have to stop meeting when we’re both soaked in blood,” Hawke said. “Or do the Warden uniforms just come that way?”

“Can’t beat the tailoring,” Carver replied dryly, wiping some blood from his breastplate.

The two were talking, and Anders and Nathaniel exchanged a worried glance. “We don’t have time for this,” Nathaniel suddenly said. “The darkspawn approach.”

“Just another fight, eh?” Carver said, spinning his blade experimentally. “Fenris, Merrill, Isabela, Varric, Sebastian, good to see you all again.”

The darkspawn seemed to come from all directions, but with ten skilled fighters working as a unit, they could keep the darkspawn at bay. Merrill lobbed a fireball through a narrow doorway, body parts flying through the door as Anders cut off another avenue with a lightning storm. An ogre was charging, ignoring the various archers riddling it with arrows, until Hawke caught its arms in a variation on a crushing prison she had been working on. The spell manifested as a pair of spectral arms, seizing the ogre’s arms and pulling until the creature ripped apart in a mess of bloody chunks. Carver stepped back out of reflex as tainted blood soaked the floor, glancing back at Hawke. He seemed equally impressed and disturbed.

Nathaniel dropped the last darkspawn with an arrow through the forehead, before glancing around. “For the first time since I’ve been down here, I don’t sense a single darkspawn. We’ve won. The route to the surface should be safe now. Because of you, I will see my sister and nephew again.”

“Stay safe, Nathaniel,” Hawke said. “And you, Carver.” The warrior pulled off his bloodied gauntlet, and the two clasped hands, the only show of affection they could share at the moment.

—ROTC—

Delilah was overjoyed when Hawke returned to Kirkwall with her brother in tow, and the Wardens stayed at the estate that evening before departing the next day. Hawke tended to a few errands around town, coming home to find Isabela leaning over her desk.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Hawke said, tilting her head as she eyed Isabela’s rear. “A lovely view, but unexpected.”

Isabela didn’t look up from going through Hawke’s mail. “Guess what? Castillon’s in town, and I’m not waiting around for him to stick a knife in my vitals. We’re going to get him before he gets me.”

Hawke smacked her on the rear as she passed by Isabela, leaning against the edge of the desk. “I’m in. Got a plan?”

“Unfortunately, Castillon’s holed up somewhere in the city, and I haven’t been able to locate him. I do know where his right-hand man Velasco is, however. We just have to make him tell us where Velasco is. Somehow.”

“I know just the elf for that,” Hawke said.

“We can’t just kill him, though. I haven’t worked out all the kinks,” Isabela admitted.

“Oh, say ‘kinks’ again,” Hawke purred.

Isabela rolled her eyes. “I’m the funny one. Remember that.”

Hawke sighed. “Fine. What have you got so far?”

“Step one, we go to Velasco. Step two, something exciting happens. Step three, profit!” At Hawke’s skeptical look, Isabela crossed her arms. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Well, Castillon wants you, alive,” Hawke suggested. “Why not let Velasco bring you to him and save ourselves the trouble of hunting him down ourselves?”

“And…you follow me,” Isabela finished. “Ooh, that’s clever. I was going to suggest challenging Velasco to a riddle game and making ‘where’s your boss?’ one of the riddles, but your idea is much better. Velasco’s been spending his nights at the Blooming Rose, enjoying its many splendors. That’s where we’ll find him.”

—ROTC—

Hawke’s party entered the Blooming Rose, Merrill grimacing as she stepped in what she hoped was a spilled drink. Ignoring the various prostitutes offering themselves up around the room, Hawke and the others followed Isabela over to Madam Lusine, waiting as she and the raider had a quiet conversation. Isabela passed over some gold, and the madam pointed up the stairs.

“So, Rivaini,” Varric said. “Have you heard back from those two girls yet?”

Isabela’s stride faltered momentarily, just enough to be noticeable. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Varric smirked. “Sure you didn’t. It was some other half-dressed Rivaini ex-pirate who walked two ladies home when a man wasn’t taking no for an answer, and then hung around for two hours to make sure he didn’t try anything.”

“Oh look, here’s his room,” Isabela said louder than was strictly necessary.

“Are you ready?” Hawke asked, checking to make sure she still had the length of rope.

Isabela nodded. “I think so. Now, this needs to be convincing. And you’ll need to get creative. Call me names, even hit me.”

Hawke looked around. “Here? Now? In front of the others? I mean, I guess it’s about the right place for it, but we don’t usually do that out here…” She chuckled as Isabela smacked her in the shoulder.

“Stick with it, no matter what I do,” Isabela continued. “Velasco’s a clever son of a bitch. If you waver, he’ll notice.”

"Are you sure this is a wise decision?"

Isabela looked deeply offended. "I've never made a wise decision in my life, and I never will."

Hawke snickered in spite of herself. “I just don’t know if I can pull this off. Handing you over to him…what if he just decides to bring Castillon your body?”

“Castillon wants me alive,” Isabela said reassuringly. “If Velasco were to bring him my corpse, he would probably be more upset at Velasco than he would be happy about my being dead. And come on, haven’t you ever wanted to slap me? Just a little?”

“Yes,” Anders said immediately.

“Oh yeah,” Varric added.

Merrill nodded sagely. “Yes... wait, what are we voting on?”

Isabela scowled. “I wasn't asking you people!”

“Face it. You set yourself up for that one,” Varric said.

“I’ve wanted to slap you or kiss you since we met,” Hawke admitted. “I just went with the other choice.”

Isabela gave her one of her trademark smirks, passing her daggers off to Varric. “I wish you’d said something about that earlier.” She pulled the length of rope from Hawke’s belt, holding it out with a wide grin. “Just like we practiced.”

“I'm worried about you,” Hawke said as she bound Isabela’s hands, tying off the knot Isabela had taught her. The knot appeared solid, but would come apart if Isabela pulled it the right way. “You're enjoying this a little too much.”

“I am, aren't I?” Isabela said with a giggle. “Whatever you do, just make sure he takes me to Castillon.”

“Sebastian’s waiting outside with Ser Wagtail,” Hawke said. “We’ll follow, don’t worry.” She glanced at her companions. “Try not to be too obvious, everyone.” The others quickly scattered, and Hawke winked at Isabela before kicking the door to Velasco’s room in.

The prostitute Velasco was getting started with gasped, and Hawke jerked her head at the door, the redheaded elf making a break for it as Velasco protested. “Skittish bitch,” he growled. “I hope you have a good reason for interrupting my private time.”

Hawke grabbed Isabela by the hair, dragging the raider forward. “I have a present for Castillon.”

Isabela’s eyes widened. “Present for – what?”

“Have to think of my reputation, Isabela,” Hawke said, feigning regret. “You’re a liability.”

“I thought I could trust you,” Isabela said. The hurt in her eyes seemed real enough that Hawke nearly gave up the game right there.

“Remember the time you ran off with the Tome of Koslun?” Hawke asked acidly. “It’s like that, only funnier.” She grunted as Isabela jerked her bound hands up, nearly catching Hawke in the mouth.

“You backstabbing bitch!” Isabela snarled. “You’d better start sleeping with one eye open!”

Hawke grabbed her by the throat, ripping her bandanna off and shoving her to the ground in front of Velasco. “A little something to remember you by,” she said, tucking it into her belt.

“Castillon will be pleased,” Velasco said. “He’s been looking for Isabela for some time.” He handed over a few sovereigns. “A token of our appreciation. It’s more than she’s worth.”

Hawke waited a few minutes after Velasco dragged Isabela out, before collecting her companions and meeting Sebastian outside. “To the rescue, then?” Anders asked.

“Ser Wagtail,” Hawke said, pulling Isabela’s bandanna from her belt and holding it out. “Find her, boy.” The hound sniffed the fabric and wagged his stubby tail, before putting his nose to the ground and starting towards the market.

—ROTC—

Hawke ducked back behind the wall of the building, glancing over at the others. “Isabela’s in there. Knowing her, she’s probably just messing around waiting for us to show up.” The trail had taken them through Hightown’s market, across Lowtown, and to the Docks, past the ridiculous statue of Hawke that had been put up overlooking the piers, to the door of an isolated warehouse.

“We going in quietly, or loud?” Varric asked.

“It could get messy,” Anders warned.

“Agreed,” Hawke sighed. “Let’s do this quietly.” Varric quietly picked the lock, and they slipped inside, Sebastian drawing a dagger and silencing a sentry without alerting the others.

“Why don’t we work something out?” Velasco was saying, leering at Isabela. “If you’re good, I’ll tell Castillon to go easy on you when he gets here.”

Isabela snorted. “Contrary to popular belief, I do have standards.”

“You’re going to do whatever I want,” Velasco growled. “I _own_ you.”

Isabela smirked as she spotted Hawke overlooking their position, the Champion tossing her a mock salute. The pirate clicked her labret piercing against her teeth. “You sure about that?” She twisted her wrists, the knot coming loose, and she spun, looping the rope tightly around Velasco’s neck and throwing him to the ground. She stomped on his back, hauling back on the rope with both hands and letting out a war cry as she crushed the man’s windpipe. Dropping the rope, she turned and ducked a raider’s mace, kicking him in the crotch and hip-checking him off-balance before catching her daggers out of the air as Varric tossed them one at a time. The raider she had knocked off-balance had regained his footing and turned to attack Isabela just in time for her to cut his throat.

“Velasco sent word to Castillon,” Isabela reported as Varric and Anders looted the corpses, accepting her bandanna back from Hawke and tying her hair back. “He’s on his way. Let’s look around before he gets here. I want to know why he’s in Kirkwall.”

They found the documents they were looking for in the warehouse’s office, and Isabela skimmed them quickly. “So Castillon’s looking to expand his slaving business. Why am I not surprised? Aveline will find these documents very interesting.”

Varric whistled a warning from the door, and they emerged from the office to find a man Hawke assumed was Castillon examining the corpses, a handful of his men behind him. “And Velasco told me you were all tied up, a lovely present just waiting to be opened.”

“To be fair, she was at the time,” Hawke said.

“I see he’s paid for that little mistake,” Castillon remarked, glancing at Velasco’s corpse. “Well-played, Isabela. Crossed and double-crossed.”

“You want to talk?” Isabela asked. “Maybe we should talk about the documents we found. Slavery in the Free Marches? They’re not going to like that.”

“Get to the point,” Castillon said flatly.

“Give me your ship, and your word to leave me alone, and you can take these papers and go.”

“What happened to getting rid of Castillon?” Hawke asked.

“I _am_ getting rid of him,” Isabela pointed out. “Through peaceful means.”

“Coming from her, that’s priceless,” Castillon remarked.

“I saw the ship docked in the harbor,” Isabela said. “She’s splendid. I want her.”

“Give me the documents, and you can have the ship,” Castillon promised. “And you will never hear from me again.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear it on my mother’s grave,” Castillon said.

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Can you trust him? He trades people for money.”

“Castillon’s a businessman,” Isabela said, her eyes never leaving Castillon’s. “And this is a business deal. He’ll keep his end of the bargain.”

“That I will,” Castillon said. “Give me the documents.”

“I don’t like this, but this is your play,” Hawke said. “Do as you wish.”

Isabela handed over the documents, and Castillon examined them briefly before pocketing them. “The ship is yours. Let me say, my dear, that you would make a remarkable ally for any man able to tame you.” He bowed respectfully. “Our business is hereby concluded. Forever. Be well, Isabela.”

Hawke scowled as the men left the warehouse. “He didn’t deserve to walk free.”

“He’ll get what’s coming to him, someday,” Isabela replied. “Doesn’t need to be at my hand. Doesn’t need to be today.”

“Well, how does it feel to have finally gotten the ship of your dreams?”

“Better than three greased-up sailors,” Isabela purred. “Or two slinky mages with a sense of adventure who don’t mind sharing. I really should haul anchor first thing tomorrow morning, but…I don’t know. I’ve taken a shine to Kirkwall and some of the people in it. I might stick around.” She kissed Hawke on the cheek as she passed by. “Come on.”

They were passing by Gamlen’s house in Lowtown when Hawke spotted them. “Shit.”

“I see them,” Varric said. “Didn’t realize your uncle had racked up enough new debt to get a fresh set of leg-breakers to come to his house.”

“Neither did I, but it’s been a while since I last saw him,” Hawke replied.

Gamlen’s irritation at the violence erupting on his doorstep dwindled significantly when he realized why the newly deceased thugs were there. Hawke and Isabela expertly looted the bodies, before piling them off to the side of the hex. “Mind if we come in to wash the blood off?” Hawke asked.

“Get in here, but make it quick,” Gamlen said. “It’s not that I’m not grateful, but…”

“But you know as well as I do that this won’t be the end of the matter,” Hawke finished as Sebastian and Isabela set to scrubbing their clothes reasonably clean of blood. Gamlen nodded, and Hawke looked around. “Haven’t redecorated yet, I see.” She frowned as she read a crumpled note on the table. “Gamlen, I found the Gem of Keroshek. If you want it, come to Darktown. Alone.”

“Hey! Leave that alone!” Gamlen snatched the note out of her hand. “There are things in my life that don’t actually involve you, you know. Stay out of my business.”

“Suit yourself,” Hawke replied. “I figured that was from whoever sent those leg-breakers to your house. Wouldn’t be the first time I had to deal with someone who wanted to violently collect on a debt. What’s the Gem of Keroshek?”

“It’s nothing,” Gamlen said irritably. “Never mind.”

“If you’re worried about who sent the note, I could go in your place.”

“Did I ask for that? I don’t know who sent it, and I don’t want to. I lost everything chasing that gem. Our fortune, our home, even Mara.”

Hawke zeroed in on the name. “Who’s Mara?”

“She’s…none of your concern, that’s who she is. Why don’t you head back to your fancy house in Hightown and _stay out of my damned business_?”

“Gamlen,” Hawke said softly. “You said yourself, we’re the only family either of us has left in Kirkwall. I’m not trying to pry. But something’s going on here. Why don’t you level with me?”

Gamlen sighed. “Mara was…an old love of mine. I wasted my youth trying to get my hands on the Gem of Keroshek. She supported me at first, but one day she just…left. I never saw her again. And I never did get the gem in the end.” He held out the note. “If you want to go chasing after it, it’s your neck.”

—ROTC—

There were a group of thugs waiting at the meeting point in Darktown. “Are you the ones who sent the note about the Gem of Keroshek?” Hawke asked.

“We were beginning to think you wouldn’t show,” the lead thug said. “It’s rude to keep people waiting, you know. It’s not like I don’t got things to do.”

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else,” Hawke began. “I don’t know you.”

“You don’t got to know me. You just got to listen. See, we was hired to give you a note. But the Gem of Keroshek thing the note talks about? We decided we want that instead. You better hand it over.”

“If you read the note, you know we don’t have it,” Hawke said. “I came here on behalf of the man who the note was sent to, and _he_ didn’t have it either. I was told to come here to get the gem. Why would you think I have it?”

“You have it, or you can take us to who does. That’s what I think. We aren’t going anywhere without that gem.”

Hawke sighed. “Look, if you want to die, just say so, but tell me which of you has the note first so I can leave them mostly un-exploded.”

“Fine,” the thug snapped. “Kill them.” Hawke rolled her eyes, jamming her staff up under the man’s chin and unleashing a blast of force magic that snapped his neck, his head hanging backwards grotesquely as the corpse dropped.

The other thugs were quickly dispatched, and Hawke searched the lead thug’s corpse, finding a note. She skimmed it, tilting her head. “What’s a wallop mallet?”

Gamlen apparently knew. “Haven’t played wallop since I was a kid,” he said. “Still got my mallet up on the wall, though. Got the wood from that tree in the alienage. Last time I was any good at something.”

The alienage wasn’t far away, and Varric looked around skeptically. “Well, we found the tree the wallop mallet’s made from. Now what?”

“Wait for it,” Hawke said.

“Wallop mallet?” A nearby elf said. “You must be the one I’m supposed to give this note to.” He handed over a note, and Hawke gave Varric a knowing glance.

“Oh, thank you,” Hawke replied, handing over some silver. “I don’t know if you were paid for your time, so…” The elf pocketed the coin, looking slightly bewildered at the politeness. “Did you happen to get a look at who asked you to give me this note?”

“Unfortunately, the person was hooded, and it was dark. I didn’t get a good look. Obviously human, though. No mistaking that. Even hooded, you all look alike.”

Hawke turned the note over. “It’s a bill of lading, looks like. Smetty’s Fish Guttery. There’s a crate we’re supposed to look for.”

“A warehouse, now?” Fenris said. “We’re being played with.”

The warehouse was down by the docks, and Fenris winced as they entered. “Fish, fish, and more fish. Pfaugh. Let’s look for that crate.”

“Spread out, but stay alert,” Hawke said. “Something smells…”

“Don’t say it,” Varric warned.

“Fishy,” Hawke finished dramatically. Varric groaned.

The crates were appropriately numbered, but there was no sense of order among the crates, and it took several minutes before Varric whistled. “Here it is.”

“Something seem off to anyone else?” Hawke asked, eyeing the crate.

“Yup,” Varric said.

“Definitely,” Fenris added.

“Something’s wrong,” Isabela replied.

“I’ve been in traps before, and this is definitely one,” Anders said.

Hawke picked up the crate, lobbing it across the warehouse. The wood splintered when the crate landed, a green gas flooding out.

A handful of thugs entered the warehouse, clearly expecting them to be incapacitated from the gas. “Hey, that’s not Gamlen!” The leader cried. “Get them!”

A few moments of entertaining violence later, Hawke was kneeling over the leader’s corpse. “So they were to capture Gamlen and take him away somewhere?” Anders said. “Sounds like the opening of a bad romance novel.”

Hawke found a scrap of paper in the leader’s pocket. “Seems that way. They wanted him taken to a cavern on the Wounded Coast. Alive.”

“Sounds like it’s more than just a debt to be repaid,” Varric said. “Anybody else curious?”

“Would Hawke be leading us from fight to fight if she wasn’t curious?” Fenris asked.

“Possibly,” Hawke said. “I _do_ get bored, you know.”

Finding the cavern out on the Wounded Coast took some time, but the place seemed deserted when they arrived. Hawke led the group down the path, finding a woman with a bow waiting for them. “So, Gamlen couldn’t even be bothered to come himself? I should have expected he’d send you, cousin.”

“You have a cousin?” Anders asked.

“I have a cousin?” Hawke said at the same time.

The woman’s eyes widened. “Gamlen never told you? I…” her face darkened. “Of course, he didn’t. Why would he?” Varric nudged Hawke, alerting her to several mercenaries entering the cavern.

“Sorry to interrupt this touching family reunion,” their leader called. “But we have unfinished business here.”

“Veld?” The woman asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Mekel is dead,” Veld spat. “That bitch killed him.”

“Mekel being the idiot who attacked me over a note?” Hawke asked. “I kill a lot of people, but only when they try to kill me first.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” the woman protested. “Mekel was just supposed to hand over the note!”

“You really think we didn’t read it?” Veld asked. “We know about the gem, Charade. Hand it over. I won’t let Mekel’s death be for nothing.”

“You let your brother go up against someone like Hawke for a stupid gem?” Charade asked, shaking her head at the man’s idiocy. “You know what, I did find the gem, but you’re not getting your pathetic little hands on it, Veld.”

“Fine. We’ll do this the hard way.” Anders and Merrill were already casting as he turned to signal his men, who were dumb enough to still be bunched up when the fireballs came sailing their way. Hawke blasted Veld across the cave with a force spell, the man’s back snapping as he hit a jagged rock. Isabela strode over and checked for a pulse, before cutting his throat and looting the corpse.

“You’re pretty useful in a fight,” Charade said, having barely drawn her bow by the time the fight was over. “You don’t take after Gamlen at all.”

“He never told me he had a daughter,” Hawke said.

“There’s probably a lot of things he hasn’t told you,” Charade replied. “My mother, Mara…she left Gamlen before I was born. He was so fixated on finding that stupid gem, I doubt he even noticed she was gone. She told me about Gamlen before she died last year. I didn’t even know about him.”

“So all this was to meet him? Why not just knock on his door?”

“Oh, yes, that sounds brilliant,” Charade said acidly. “Just show up on his doorstep and say ‘hi, I’m your daughter.’ I doubt that would go over well. I just wanted to see…I don’t know, how far he’d go for something he really wanted. And then he doesn’t even show up. I baited him with the one thing I thought would get his attention.”

Hawke smothered a smile. “Truth is, he gave up on the gem because he lost your mother over his obsession with it. He’s got some good qualities. You might be surprised.”

“Really? What do you think I should do?”

“I think you should go talk to him,” Hawke said honestly. “He’s never given any indication that he even knew you existed, but when this Gem came up, he did mention your mother.”

“Having family might be more worthwhile than you think,” Fenris commented.

“Maybe give him a chance before you write him off,” Hawke suggested.

“I think I will,” Charade said. “Having a cousin turned out to be a good thing. Maybe having a father will, too.” She left as Hawke and company looted the bodies.

“There’s supposedly a kidnapped nobleman’s daughter around here someplace,” Hawke said as they left the cavern. “While we’re here we may as well attempt a rescue.”

Hawke found the missing woman surrounded by corpses, seemingly unfazed by the carnage. “Pardon me, are you Orlanna?”

The woman turned to her, giving her a dreamy smile. “You, there! Did my love send you? Will you take me to him?”

Hawke paused for a few seconds, glancing at Varric. “Either your father didn’t give me the whole story, or I really, _really_ hope you’re talking about someone else.”

“Feynriel, the man of my dreams!” Orlanna gushed. “These brutes intended to take my maidenhood. As they argued about who would go first, I fainted! Then Feynriel spoke to me in a vision and told me not to fear. When I awoke, the men had slain one another. Please, take me to Feyrniel. I want to thank him properly.”

Hawke shared another glance with Varric. “This Feynriel. He’s blond, brown eyes, thin features?” Orlanna nodded. “Well, _that’s_ not something I saw coming.”

“Hey!” They turned, seeing a pack of bandits standing at the edge of the clearing. “What did you do to my men?” The leader slurred. “I’ll kill you ‘til you’re good and dead!”

Hawke sighed. “Merrill? Would you mind?” The elf slammed her staff against the ground, roots erupting through the soil and wrapping around the bandits before crushing the life out of them. “Thanks, love.”

Orlanna sighed. “It seems I must wait a bit longer for my love. Thank you for your aid. I will find my way back to Kirkwall. The walk will tire me, and we’ll be reunited in my dreams. Feynriel, my love, I’m coming!”

Hawke watched as the woman left the mess behind. “Am I the only sane noble in Kirkwall?”

“It would seem that way, yes,” Fenris replied.

“You're not nearly as selfish as you pretend,” Anders said as they headed back toward the city.

Isabela frowned. “Hey! You take that back!”

“You had your relic. You were gone. There was no reason for you to come back and face the Qunari.”

“I still didn’t have a ship,” Isabela said evasively. “I thought I could get one.”

“From a bunch of shipwrecked Qunari?”

“From the Viscount,” Isabela insisted. “I just got here late.”

Anders smirked. “I always knew you had a heart of gold.”

“Shh!” Isabela hissed. “Don't tell anyone!”

—ROTC—

“You’ve got to realize this is kind of new to me,” Gamlen was saying as they entered his house. “I didn’t know Mara had a baby. If I did, I would have…I don’t know, gone after her or something.”

“She used to say I was so much like you, and I didn’t even know who you were,” Charade said. “I guess I wanted to see for myself. I need some time to think about all this, but…if it’s all right, I’d like to come back and talk more.”

The edges of Gamlen’s eyes crinkled as he smiled broadly. “I think I’d like that. Your mother…was the only woman I’ve ever loved. To find out that what we had meant that much to her, that you exist…” Charade hugged him tightly, and Gamlen hesitated for only a moment before embracing her as well. She turned to leave, and Gamlen stammered. “Uh…keep…uh…safe?”

Charade gave him an amused smile, nodding to Hawke on her way out. “Looks like you two had a good talk,” Hawke said.

“It was bloody awkward, that’s what it was,” Gamlen said.

“I was worried she wouldn’t come find you. I think you need each other.”

“You know, I may not say this very often, but I’m glad you’re one of the family,” Gamlen said. “I had my doubts when I first saw you, but apparently there was something to that Hawke fellow Leandra ran off with after all. He certainly produced an amazing daughter. Your mother would be proud.”

“I just wish she had lived to see me become Champion,” Hawke said softly.

“I knew Leandra, and she’d be absolutely glowing from all the praise that’s been heaped on you. I don’t say this often, but…we’re the only family we’ve both got left. For a long time, I thought the Amell line in Kirkwall would end at me. I’m glad you’ve pulled it out of the grave.”

“Don’t be too sure,” Hawke said. “I’m not seeing myself continuing the line. It may be up to Charade.”

—ROTC—

The next morning, Hawke found Anders waiting in her kitchen. “What brings you upstairs?”

"I'm going to be trying something, and I thought you'd want to be part of it," Anders began. "We've both been wrong. What I did with Justice was unnatural. It should never have happened."

Hawke tilted her head. "Is there some way to undo it?"

"For the last three years, I've been researching the methods of Tevinter magisters. They're the only ones who have ever sought to reverse spirit possession, not just behead the victims. I believe I have a formula for a potion that can separate Justice and me. Without killing either."

"Is it dangerous?"

"There are always dangers with magic, but I believe this will be worth the cost," Anders said.

"If this is what you want to do, I'll help any way I can," Hawke replied.

"I knew you'd stand behind me in this. Even if…"

"What?"

"Nothing," Anders said after a pause. "I've gathered most of what I need, but there are some…outlandish ingredients, that I was hoping you'd help me collect. A powder called sela petrae, and a small amount of drakestone."

"I've never heard of a potion that could separate a mortal and a spirit," Hawke said. "Is there more to it? A ritual of some sort?"

"No, no ritual. Just mix up the ingredients, and…boom. Justice and I are free. And we can take our rightful place among free mages."

"Drakestone, I've heard of," Hawke said. "I think there's a bit that comes out of the Bone Pit, actually. We can get some there. Sela petrae, I've never heard of."

Anders winced. "It's a crystal that forms. From…concentrated manure and urine."

Hawke forced a smile. "I don't suppose we could just…buy it somewhere?"

"It's not used by mages here," Anders said uncomfortably. "I've checked. There's no reason for any merchant to stock it."

Hawke groaned. "Anders, I just cleaned these boots! Where's the sewer entrance?"

"Not far from my clinic."

"Well, we'll find them."

"I could not have begun to do this without your support," Anders said. They made their way to the sewer entrance, and Anders winced at the smell. "Hold your nose. I'll have to get pretty close to tell what we're looking at."

Finding a sufficient amount of the sela petrae left them…fragrant, to say the least. “All right, let’s get cleaned up and go see Hubert about the Bone Pit.”

—ROTC—

"Hubert," Hawke said warmly. "How's the Bone Pit?"

“Catastrophe has struck, partner!” Hubert wailed. “We are ruined. Ruined!”

“And what happened this time,” Hawke sighed.

“A cart came back from the Bone Pit, half-wrecked, with a dozen mangled bodies,” Hubert explained. “The horse pulling the cart was the only survivor, and it does not speak! Town full of rotten mages and not one can get answers from a horse?”

“Well, keep interrogating the horse,” Hawke said. “I’ll get as many hands as I can and check out the Bone Pit.”

—ROTC—

“_Why is everything on fire?_”

“This looks like a dragon’s work,” Anders said, quenching some of the flames with frost magic.

“Maker, does anyone see any survivors?” Hawke asked. “Spread out. See if anyone made it, and put out the fires if you can.”

They had made their way down to the newly-established lower outdoor tier of the mine when a screeching roar split the air. “And there would be the dragon,” Anders sighed. The dragon in question flew overhead, landing in front of them hard enough to shake the ground.

“That’s a fucking dragon,” Hawke said flatly.

“A High Dragon, yes,” Anders agreed.

“That. Is a. Fucking. Dragon,” Hawke said slowly.

“Mmhmm.”

Hawke sighed. “Where’s Carver when you need him? Alright then.”

“Go for the eyes, the wings, and then hit it as hard as you can,” Anders reminded them as the group fanned out, a fireball from the dragon zipping past and blocking off their path of retreat.

Varric and Sebastian began peppering the dragon’s head with arrows as the mages savaged its wings with various primal magics. Isabela and Fenris spread out, waiting for the opportunity to attack.

“Fenris, go for the left!” Hawke shouted, hitting the blinded dragon in the face with a bolt of lightning. She followed up with a blast of force that knocked it off-balance, and Fenris carved a ragged gash through the dragon’s hide where the neck met the wing, Isabela’s knives ripping holes in the dragon’s other side. Both disengaged as the dragon lashed out, Isabela ducking and rolling under the dragon’s sweeping tail.

Anders and Merrill both called down more lightning, keeping the dragon distracted as Fenris darted back in to cut deeper into the dragon’s body, draconic blood spraying across the packed dirt. Isabela ducked another swipe of the dragon’s tail, the spikes on the end carving a messy trail across her shoulder. The rogue dropped, trying to roll away from the dragon.

“Anders, get Isabela clear!” Hawke called, calling down several lightning strikes at once to keep the dragon busy. Merrill summoned roots through the ground, pinning the dragon in place as Fenris sawed deeper into the dragon’s neck. “Fenris, get out of there!” The warrior threw himself backwards and just out of reach of the dragon’s snapping jaws, coming to his feet with his sword in a ready guard.

“We have to end this quickly,” Merrill warned, her staff up and glowing with magic. “I can’t hold that dragon for long.”

Hawke nodded grimly, pulling deeper on her mana. A tempest exploded into existence over the dragon, lightning continually striking it as the dragon thrashed under the assault and strained against the roots. Anders looked up from healing Isabela and raised his staff, a blizzard joining the equation. Both spells unraveled into each other, and the dragon screeched as the wild storm ravaged it before the ice and lightning obscured its form.

By the time the spells ran their course and dissipated, the dragon had collapsed, and Hawke checked on her companions. Isabela was being helped to her feet by Anders, the mage pale and the rogue scrubbing at her bloodied clothing. Fenris and Merrill were winded but unhurt, and Sebastian and Varric had remained to the rear, out of harm’s way.

“What a waste,” Hawke said, looking at the corpses of her workers. “What is _with_ this place that every few years there’s some sort of catastrophe here? Corpses, spiders, dragons, _bigger_ dragons? I’m almost afraid to ask what’s next!”

“Many slaves died here,” Fenris said softly. “Their cries linger in the stone.”

“Much as I hate to agree with him,” Anders said, “where the Veil has been thinned, there are often…greater rates, I suppose is the best way to put it, of bad things happening.”

“So the place _is_ cursed?” Hawke asked. “I didn’t buy it at first, but…it’s hard to ignore the evidence.”

“If it is, there’s not much we could do about it,” Anders said with a shrug. “Hawke, I realize there’s a lot going on, but…”

Hawke nodded, pointing at a half-wrecked cart. “There should be some drakestone in that cart over there.” He searched through the contents of the cart, pocketing some drakestone.

—ROTC—

“A dragon attacked the mine,” Hawke said wearily. “A High Dragon. Everyone is dead, or ran off.”

“Dear Maker,” Hubert said. “What of the equipment? Did it seem salvageable?”

“No more than the corpses did,” Hawke said icily. “You could show a little concern.”

Hubert leaned against his stall, clutching his head. “So many years of investment. I am ruined. Ruined! I sank all my coin into that rotten mine. I have nothing left to pay you.”

“Give me the Bone Pit,” Hawke sighed. “Perhaps in a few years I can get it back in order.”

Hubert scoffed. “Fine, take it. I wash my hands of the entire cursed venture.”

—ROTC—

_Fenris - The Last Three Years_

_Fenris has remained in his Hightown mansion for the past three years. However, he became increasingly restless and occasionally noted that it may almost be time for him to move on. Things came to a head when Danarius finally reappeared as part of an ambush involving his long-lost sister, and with Danarius’s violent death Fenris assumes that he is now free to do as he wishes... but what will that be? For now, he seems content to stay at Hawke's side out of friendship._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	22. Settling Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing with the aftermath of personal quests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Varric - The Last Three Years  
“There’s power in stories. That’s all history is: the best tales. The ones that last. Might as well be mine.”_

_Varric saw Bartrand settled into a sanitarium just outside Kirkwall, run by the Chantry. He then took up the mantle of House Tethras officially; however, according to the updated official Kirkwall and Merchants Guild documentation, the family businesses are run by nonexistent uncles, aunts, cousins, and household pets._

—ROTC—

Hawke, Varric, and Anders entered Hawke’s estate, finding Ser Wagtail waiting by the fire. “You know, you play Diamondback better than my cousin Vidar,” Varric said to the hound. “You wag your tail whenever you have a good hand, though. Might want to watch that.” The hound barked in reply.

“Is it brilliant or horrible that you play diamondback with my dog?” Hawke asked.

“All I’m saying is, he’d be up more than two sovereigns if he watched his tells,” Varric replied. “My Uncle Emmet has a whole pack of rat terriers who play every week.” The dog whined, and Varric scratched him behind the ears. “They’re a cutthroat bunch. You’ve got a long way to go to be their quality.” Hopper snuffled, and Varric chuckled. “Don’t take it that badly, you’re still better than Anders.”

“Hey,” Anders protested.

“I hate to say it, but I’ve seen you both play cards,” Hawke said. “He’s right.”

“Coming to the Hanged Man later?” Varric asked the dog. Ser Wagtail barked, and Varric nodded, the dog bopping his hand with a paw before the archer left.

“There is one more thing I must ask of you, Hawke,” Anders said. “Can you do me a weird favor without asking any questions?”

“Isn’t that the bedrock upon which our friendship was founded?”

“I must get inside the Chantry, without being seen. Will you talk to the grand cleric for me? Distract her long enough for me to do what must be done?”

“What are you planning?”

“You would not thank me if I told you,” Anders said. “If you support freedom for mages, help me. That’s all I can say.”

“Anders, I’ve been on your side from the start,” Hawke replied. “What is it you don’t want me to see, here?”

“You’re right,” Anders admitted. “You believe in me. Again and again, you have shown your support for mages. You’ve helped me break mages out of the Gallows and you’ve helped escaped mages stay free. Trust me now. I am doing only what is necessary.”

“Well I can’t act blindly,” Hawke protested. “Tell me your plan. Maybe I can help.”

“I am taking a risk,” Anders said. “I would not see you drawn into it. But maybe your support of mages ends at talk. It’s easy to support freedom if no one must die to achieve it. You cannot pretend friendship, then stop now.”

Hawke frowned. “Being a friend doesn’t mean I have to agree with your every decision, Anders. What’s the matter? I’m not ‘pretending’ anything.”

“You cannot care for me and despise what I stand for,” Anders said. “I _am_ the cause of mages. There is nothing else inside me. Will you aid us now? Or does your support stop at the chantry door?”

“I don’t appreciate the blackmail, but tell me what you would have of me,” Hawke replied coldly.

“I promise, whatever happens, it’s on my head,” Anders said. “It will not come back on you. Go to the chantry. Talk to the grand cleric. I will join you when I’m done.”

“What do you even want me to talk to her about?” Hawke asked in exasperation. “I don’t _like_ her, I don’t know if I’ve made that clear.”

“Food? The weather? What does it matter?” Anders paused. “No, talk of mages. Give her one final chance to hear what we have suffered. To pick a side. Perhaps she’ll be more inclined to listen to you.”

“Well then, let’s go.”

—ROTC—

Anders split off as Hawke entered the Chantry. “Maker’s blessing, Champion,” Elthina said. “Have you come to pray?”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Only that you finally do something about the situation in Kirkwall,” she replied. “Have you thought about which side you’ll take? Between the mages and Templars?”

“It’s no secret that you count apostates among your friends, Champion,” Elthina said. “You have done much to fan the flames of rebellion here.”

“Maker forbid that mages be treated humanely,” Hawke replied. “But what was it Knight-Captain Cullen said? They are not people like you and me?”

“We must give Meredith and Orsino time to work out their differences,” Elthina lectured. “No good can come of showing favor to one side.”

“That assumes that Orsino and Meredith are in equal positions of power,” Hawke pointed out. “Orsino couldn’t order Meredith executed or rendered Tranquil on a whim, as Meredith has already done. The Maker created mages. Why doesn’t He protect them?”

“I feel for the mages, I do,” Elthina said. “I would not wish to be locked in the Gallows. But I cannot take sides. We are all the Maker’s creatures, but magic allows abuses beyond the scope of mortals.”

“I don’t know, the Templars seem to be pretty competent at abuse without magic to help,” Hawke quipped.

“I only hope I can balance the needs of everyone,” Elthina said. “For if it comes to war, it is the people of this city who will lose. The viscount lies dead. I will not leave my people to bear the price of war between the Templars and maleficarum.”

“And the mages aren’t people?” Hawke demanded. “They don’t matter, I suppose? And those maleficarum you refer to are just mages who are agitating for personal freedoms and wanting accountability for Templars that abuse their station. And it’s not like you’ve seen proof of the Templars’ abuse, considering that they keep making Harrowed mages Tranquil. But sure, Grand Cleric, it’s ‘your people’ that desperately need you to stand there and do nothing.”

Elthina was giving her an icy look when Anders reappeared. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you all over.” He gave Elthina a guarded nod. “Your Grace.”

“Your soul is troubled, child,” Elthina said. “I hope you found a balm for it here.” She looked back to Hawke. “Unless there is anything else?”

“Good day,” Hawke said coldly.

—ROTC—

“I wanted you to have this,” Anders said softly.

Varric tilted his head. “What’s that, a…pillow?”

“Hand-embroidered by my mother,” Anders said. “The only thing of hers they let me keep when I went to the Circle.”

“And why in the name of Andraste would you give that to me?” Varric asked.

“You’ve been a good friend, Varric,” Anders replied, holding the pillow out.

Varric pushed it back at him. “Uh-uh. You keep your pillow, Blondie. And may you have many more dreams of killing Templars on it.” He left as Hawke entered the clinic.

“Hawke,” Anders said, straightening his robes. “I…didn’t expect you here.”

“New robes?” Hawke asked.

“Figured it was time,” Anders replied.

“Black is a good color on you,” Hawke said.

“I appreciate that. And…let me take this time to tell you how much I respect you. You’ve stood by me, when I gave you every reason to turn away. Just remember, whatever happens, I wanted you to know that.”

“Why are you talking like this?” Hawke asked warily.

“He’ll still be here, you know,” Anders said. “Justice. Long after you and I are gone. It doesn’t mean the same thing to a spirit. He’ll just go back to the Fade.”

“You’ve been a good friend,” Hawke said gently. “But why does it feel like you’re saying goodbye?”

“No, I haven’t, and I’m sorry. I was hoping we’d find a better way, but…Justice and Vengeance are too intertwined. I can’t tell one from the other.”

“So the potion didn’t work?” Hawke asked.

“Not as I had hoped,” Anders said. “Not yet, at least. But you have been a better friend than I ever thought to have.”

Very confused by the tone Anders was taking, Hawke left the clinic and cut through the basement to get back to the estate. She found Bodahn waiting for her.

“Things have been very troubling these last few years, haven’t they?” Hawke nodded in agreement. “I, ah…I was thinking it might soon be time for my boy and I to move on.”

“Can’t say that I blame you,” Hawke said. “Back to the merchant’s life, I suppose?”

Bodahn nodded solemnly. “It’s been a lark working with you, but I’m getting older. It’s time to see to Sandal’s future.”

“When would you leave?” Hawke asked.

“Making arrangements to move would take some time,” Bodahn said. “I’m not packing yet, don’t worry.”

“I’m almost tempted to go along with you,” Hawke replied.

Bodahn laughed. “Have a bit of the wanderlust yourself, eh? Hopefully this business with the Templars doesn’t get worse before we go. I worry about you, messere.”

—ROTC—

Fenris looked up from working the whetstone down the edge of his sword as the door clicked open. “Oh, Hawke! Good to see-” He paused as the door creaked open slowly, and his eyes narrowed. “You’re...not Hawke.”

“_Whuff_!” The mabari puppy replied.

“And where did you come from?” Fenris asked softly.

Then a female voice hollered from the foyer. “Release the hounds!”

Fenris’s eyes widened. “_What._” The sound of clattering paws echoed through the mansion, and Fenris cried out as a veritable stampede of mabari puppies stormed through the door and swarmed over him.

Hawke poked her head through the door, grinning as the seasoned warrior went down under the ferocity of a dozen goofy dogs.

After Hawke and Isabela had stopped laughing and the dogs had been rounded up and returned to the breeder, the three of them settled down. “So, was there a reason for that?” the elf asked, trying to scowl at them. It wasn’t very effective – while Fenris took the phrase ‘a man after my own heart’ to new levels, the smile that kept threatening to break out on his face made him less imposing.

“Do we need one?” Isabela asked.

“There is one, but she’s got a point,” Hawke said. “Wasn’t it funny? You’re smiling.”

“I am _not_ smiling,” Fenris insisted, smiling.

“Yes, you are,” Isabela said. “You do it so rarely you may not be familiar with it, but you are, in fact, smiling.”

Fenris sighed. “What is this all about?”

“Well, we can’t celebrate your birthday,” Hawke said, “seeing as none of us know when it is. But today is nonetheless a special day.” Fenris’s eyes narrowed as he thought back, before he tilted his head in confusion. “Today’s the day we met! In the alienage.”

Fenris paused, before smiling wider. “It is, at that. Hm. I never expected that someone fooled into helping me would turn out to be such a good friend. I would never have thought to call a mage my friend, yet here you are.”

Hawke smiled. “You’ve been there for me, too.”

“And me,” Isabela said as Hawke picked up a lute she had brought from her estate. She began strumming it, the instrument horribly out of tune. “In more ways than one.”

“We’re friends,” Fenris said. “It’s been a pleasure. I couldn’t imagine staying in one place this long for anyone else.”

“Aw, you’re going to make me blush,” Isabela said, speaking louder over Hawke’s playing.

“I would never,” Fenris replied.

“You know, you could go anywhere you like, now,” Isabela suggested.

“I’m aware of that.”

Isabela’s eyes lit up. “You could become a raider! You could join my crew!”

“So it would be…who?” Fenris asked. “You, me, and Hawke?”

Isabela’s pupils blew wide. “Now, _there’s_ an idea,” she purred.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Hawke chided. “I’m not sure even Fenris would be enough man for both of us.”

“I’m not sure if I should be insulted by that,” Fenris admitted. “But…don’t you prefer the company of women anyway?”

“I could be persuaded by the right man,” Hawke replied, still plucking at the lute. “Don’t sell yourself short, Fenris, you are _very_ attractive. Not very huggable, with that spiky armor, but you get the point.” She reached out and tapped one of the spikes on his pauldron. “Heh, get the point.”

“This conversation really wandered away, didn’t it,” Isabela mused as Hawke went back to playing the lute. “What were you saying, Fenris?”

“I mean, I’m free,” Fenris said. “Danarius is dead. Yet…it doesn’t feel like it should.”

“You thought killing him would solve everything, but…it doesn’t?” Hawke asked. “I’m guessing it felt good, but clearly it’s not a solution to all your problems.”

Fenris considered that for a moment. “I suppose not,” he conceded. “I thought if I didn’t need to run and fight to stay alive, I would finally be able to live as a free man does. But how is that? My sister is gone, and I have nothing. Not even an enemy.”

“You’re looking at it wrong,” Isabela said. “That just means there’s nothing holding you back. You can do whatever you want, now.”

Fenris opened his mouth to reply, paused, and closed it. “An interesting thought,” he replied. “It’s just…difficult to overlook the stain that magic has left on my life. If I seem bitter, it’s not without cause. Perhaps it is time to move forward. I just don’t know where that leads. Do you?”

Hawke stared at him, bemused. “Have you ever gotten the impression that I know what I’m doing?”

Fenris smiled. “No, that’s true.”

“Nobody knows the future, Fenris,” Hawke said.

“The future of a slave is never uncertain,” Fenris replied. “But I am no longer a slave. Perhaps it is time I remembered that. Wherever the future leads, I hope it is at your side.” He endured a few more seconds of Hawke’s abysmal playing, before sighing. “Hawke, do you take requests?”

“Sure,” Hawke said.

“Please stop.”

Hawke rolled her eyes, setting the lute aside and ruffling Fenris’s hair. “You may be a crochety one, but I’m glad you came into my life.”

“And I’m glad you came into my…”

“_Isabela!_” Both Fenris and Hawke said.

—ROTC—

Hawke found Ser Wagtail growling at a wardrobe, his teeth bared. “I’m sure the furniture’s very sorry for whatever it did,” Hawke said soothingly. The hound kept barking, and Hawke frowned. “All right, you don’t do this without reason. Let’s have a look.”

A muffled voice came from inside the wardrobe. “Please don’t open the door.”

Ser Wagtail barked again, and Hawke scratched him behind the ears. “You’ve caught a burglar! Good boy!”

The door creaked open, and Ser Wagtail growled as a young man slowly stepped out. “My legs are cramping. Please just let me go.”

“You expect me to just let you walk out of here?” Hawke asked skeptically.

“Please, serah! I was seduced by crime at a very young age. But your guard-monster here has scared me towards a path of honest work!”

Hawke whistled, jerking her head at the door. “Go fetch a watchman, boy.” Ser Wagtail bounded off.

The burglar scoffed. “Going to fetch the Watch. Dogs aren’t that smart…” His confident look faltered at Hawke’s face. “Right?”

“Smarter than you, anyway.”

A few hours later, Hawke, Isabela, and Merrill were curled up on Hawke’s bed, Isabela slowly stroking Hawke’s hair. Merrill lay sprawled across both of them. “I…wanted to talk to you,” the pirate began. “Both of you.”

“I’m listening,” Hawke said.

“I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I’m glad you walked into the Hanged Man all those years ago, Hawke. That you led me to Merrill, that you brought us all together.”

“You’ve been a good friend,” Hawke said. “And a constant source of excitement.”

Isabela smirked. “You do know how to flatter a girl. Now that I have my ship, I’ll need a new crew, and I’d like to have you two on board. People I can really trust, who have my back, no matter what happens.”

“Exploring the world and getting away from all this?” Hawke said. “I’m game.”

“Me too,” Merrill agreed.

“It’ll be the three of us chasing that horizon. I can’t think of any place I’d rather be.” She paused. “I…uh, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me.”

Hawke pushed herself up on her elbows, looking at Isabela. “What’s going through your mind?”

“I think I…I think I’m falling for you two,” Isabela said. “Hawke, Merrill, both of you. Just…just tell me if I have a chance. If you two want to just be with each other, I’ll understand, I swear, but…”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you say love wasn’t for you?”

“I know what I said,” Isabela said, crossing her arms over her chest. “And I know why I said it. You were right. I wasn’t afraid of love. I was afraid of being loved. And now…”

“Now you love us?” Merrill said. Isabela nodded. “Then say it.”

“I…” Isabela paused. “I…” She grimaced, before taking a deep breath. “I love you. Both of you.”

“I’ve waited years for you to say that,” Hawke said.

Isabela blushed. That surprised Hawke more than anything else, who up until that moment had thought her incapable of shame or embarrassment. “Thank you for waiting. This…this won’t be easy. Or normal.”

“I don’t want normal,” Hawke said, wrapping an arm around Merrill’s shoulders and clenching Isabela’s hand with her other hand. “And easy. And simple. I want the difficult, life-changing, passionate, extraordinary love that I feel for you two.”

“This may not be a good time,” Merrill said, “but I need to ask something of you. Both of you.”

Hawke carded her fingers through Merrill’s hair. “What’s on your mind, Merrill?”

“It’s about the eluvian,” Merrill began. “I thought the arulin’holm would be the last thing I needed, but it still won’t work. I think…I think I have to go back to the spirit that helped me at the start of all this.”

“What do you define as working?” Hawke asked. “I mean, you told me the eluvians were used to communicate and travel across long distances in an instant. Could it be that it works, but there’s nobody on the other end to answer?”

“That’s part of what I need to find out,” Merrill said. “I can feel the power in it, but it’s…like it’s asleep. I can’t seem to wake it.”

“Why do you think the demon will help?” Isabela asked.

“He knows about the mirror,” Merrill explained. “I don’t know how much. He wouldn’t tell me everything, and it’s dangerous to trust. He said he witnessed its forging. He told me how to cleanse it of its corruption. He must know how to make it work.”

“Isn’t there another way?” Hawke asked. “I mean, you know what you’re doing, but…the spirit can’t be the only one who knows about the mirror. Someone else must know something.”

“The eluvian was lost before Arlathan fell,” Merrill said. “The only creatures who would know anything about it are in the Fade. I’ve called to the spirit, but he doesn’t seem to hear. He was sealed in an artifact on Sundermount. I have to look for him there. But if things go wrong…if he possesses me, I need you to strike me down.”

Hawke’s jaw dropped. “I…Merrill. I…you would risk becoming an abomination for this mirror? How is it worth that?”

“If it brings back this artifact of the elvhen, if it gives us even one piece of our history, it’s worth any risk,” Merrill said stubbornly. “There’s no one else I trust. I need you, both of you, to be there. I’d never forgive myself if someone else got hurt because of me.”

Hawke shared a worried glance with Isabela. “I…I don’t know if I can promise that, Merrill,” Hawke admitted. “I love you. I don’t know if I could bring myself to hurt you.”

“Go to your Keeper,” Isabela suggested. “Maybe there’s an alternative to summoning the demon.”

“The Keeper would never help me,” Merrill said. “Why do you think I had to find the demon in the first place? The whole clan has moved on by now, anyway. You’ll never find her.”

Hawke looked deep into Merrill’s eyes, seeing the resolve that lay there. “Merrill, you know I would do anything for you. And while I don’t like the idea of anything that puts you in danger like this…I can’t refuse you. I’ll help. Any way that I can. I promise.”

“Me too, Kitten,” Isabela said.

“We’ll go tomorrow morning.”

“Can we talk about something nicer, now?” Isabela asked.

“Since you bring it up,” Merrill said, “I’d like to talk about our sleeping arrangements. With him.” She pointed at Ser Wagtail, whose tail began thumping against the floor. “Do you think he could use his own bed?”

“Is it because he sometimes watches us?” Hawke asked.

“It’s not that,” Merrill replied. “It’s just…he snores. And sometimes, he stinks like a bog.” Ser Wagtail whimpered. “Oh, don’t be sad. I still like you very much. Maybe you could bunk with Sandal?”

“Hey, Hawke?” Varric called from the main hall. “You home?”

“Be down in a minute,” Hawke called back, extricating herself from the pile and straightening her clothes.

“Hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” Varric said.

Hawke waved him off. “What’s on your mind?”

“I know this is ancient history, but remember that Hightown house Bartrand barricaded himself in? He doesn’t exactly need the place, now that he’s in the sanitarium. I’ve been trying to sell it.”

“I’m guessing there’s not much interest in it,” Hawke said.

“No,” Varric admitted. “There’s a really small number of people who want expensive, blood-covered houses in Hightown. I found a minor noble in Rivain who bought the place sight unseen. But now there’s a problem. They say the place is…haunted.”

“Bartrand’s atrocities could have weakened the barrier between this world and the Fade,” Hawke mused.

“Maker, I hope not,” Varric said. “I don’t think I can fix the Veil through applied use of force.”

“Well, let’s take a step back,” Hawke replied. “How is the house ‘haunted?’”

“They’ve noticed some minor problems. Voices whispering in the walls, apparitions, things moving on their own. My hope is that it’s a relic Bartrand brought back from the Deep Roads. We smash it, and the haunting stops.”

“And if we don’t handle this?” Hawke asked. “I’m not sure what we can do if the Veil is weakened.”

“Best case? They drag me before the seneschal and accuse me of fraud. The worst-case scenario involves the Antivan Crows.”

“I’m not sure how much help I can be, but we’ll investigate the mansion,” Hawke said. “Again. We’ll take Anders, Merrill too, they know more about the Fade and the Veil than I do. We’ll bring Isabela too, make it a party.”

“So we’re going to a haunted mansion?” Anders asked as they cut across the empty Hightown market. “Did I ever tell you about the time I went to a haunted marsh? We got sucked into the Fade and had to fight a Pride demon.”

Hawke’s stride faltered. “How badly do you want to deal with this?”

“We’d best settle it,” Varric sighed.

“You should have this back,” Merrill said, handing Varric a ball of twine.

“Twine?” Varric turned it over in his hands. “When did I loan you a ball of twine?”

“You gave it to me when I first moved here when I kept getting lost in Lowtown. It drove the merchants in the market completely batty, but it did help me find my way.”

Varric held it out. “Keep it, Daisy.”

“I don’t think I’ll be getting lost again anytime soon,” Merrill said proudly.

“You never know. You might need to tie a package up, hang a lantern, dress a roast chicken. It’s multipurpose.”

Merrill nodded, before pausing. “How do you do it – living in this city without picking a side? Doesn’t it matter to you?”

“Of course it does,” Varric said. “That’s why I don’t take sides.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I’ve got you and Aveline, Fenris and Anders, Hawke, Isabela. I’ve got friends in the Circle and drinking buddies in the Templars. All of them matter.”

Hawke stopped walking. “You know, Varric, how well do you know these drinking buddies? How sure are you that they aren’t the Templars that slip into the mages’ quarters at night? How do you know they’re not the ones who like the Tranquil because they literally can’t say no? Or that they’re not keeping about other Templars who do? They’re already part of an order that claims ‘dominance by divine right’ over an entire captive group of people, regularly kidnaps children and keeps them from their families for the rest of their lives, and is constantly willing to slaughter hundreds of them for the actions of a few. These are people you regard as drinking buddies?”

Varric gave her a look. “You realize I’ve been passing information to Blondie about the Templars’ activities, right? How stupid do you think I am?”

Hawke paused. “I…” She flushed, looking away. “Sorry, Varric.”

“I may be everybody’s best friend, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care,” Varric remarked, unusually serious. “It pays to have everyone like you.”

“Got a key this time?” Hawke asked. Varric nodded, unlocking the door, and Hawke led the way inside. She glanced around. “No immediate attacks. Come on.” She paused halfway across the room as she heard bottles clinking against each other, but a quick look around the room revealed nothing.

“Is that music?” Varric said. “Where is that coming from?”

“I don’t hear anything,” Hawke replied. She stopped short a few rooms later, staring blankly. “You _do_ see that urn, right?”

“I guess the buyer wasn’t kidding,” Varric said as the urn floated a few feet above the table.

“It’s not supposed to do that, is it?” Merrill asked quietly. The urn silently set back down on the table, and Hawke glanced around the room again, looking for anything else moving before heading for the door to the sitting room of the mansion.

Varric looked around urgently as they entered the sitting room. “Where is that voice coming from?”

Hawke glanced at him. “What voice?”

“I can barely hear it,” Varric said. “I wish I could make out the words.”

A chair floated off the ground, turning over and pressing upside down against the ceiling. “Hello?” Merrill called. “Messere ghost? Would you stop that, please?”

“We’re getting closer,” Varric said tightly. “I can feel it, Hawke.”

“Anders?” Hawke asked quietly. “Do you think we should just burn the place down and take a tax loss?”

“Sounds good to me,” Anders replied as a flurry of books flew off the shelf, swirled around the room, and flew back on to the shelf in different places.

“We get it already!” Isabela said. “House haunted! You can stop now!”

Merrill clutched at Hawke’s hand. “Hawke, Varric? I would very much like to leave, soon.”

“Look at this,” Varric said, already in the next room. “My brother’s junk was left here. You wouldn’t know it, but Bartrand was a sentimentalist. This came from our estate in Orzammar. When I was seven, I knocked over one of Mother’s plates and broke it. My brother yelled at me for an hour.” He put on a fair impression of Bartrand’s voice. “This was made by the artisans of House Saldras! The clay was from the Aedros Atuna river, which never sees the sun!”

“He was that upset over a dish?” Hawke asked.

“I don’t think it was a dish to Bartrand. That stupid plate was the whole city of Orzammar to him.”

As they entered the corridor leading to the main hall, a howling ghost ran by, and Isabela shrieked. “Sorry,” the pirate said sheepishly. “I really should have gone to the privy before coming here.”

“Yeah, me too,” Hawke replied, ducking as a vase flew past her head and shattered against the wall.

“Andraste’s flaming knickers!” Everyone paused, looking at Anders. “What?”

“This isn’t being caused by some random artifact,” Varric realized. “The idol is still in the house, Hawke! It has to be!”

As they entered the main hall, a collection of urns, vases, and a single odd privy bucket began floating around the room over their heads. There was a rumbling noise from the next room, and Merrill squeaked nervously. “Oh, dear…”

“Varric, is that what you’ve been hearing?” Anders asked.

“No.”

“Good. Then I’m not going crazy.”

Hawke drew her staff, layering on her defensive spells and warily approaching the only room left in the mansion – the master bedroom. She nudged open the door with a foot, sweeping the head of her staff around as she scanned the room. A woman emerged from behind the bed, her face pale. “Are you real? You’ve got to get out of here before it comes back!”

“Where’s the idol?” Varric demanded.

“What idol?”

“Don’t waste my time with your lies!” Varric barked. “Tell me where it is!”

Hawke set a hand on his shoulder. “Varric, take it easy. She’s telling us what she can.”

He jerked away from her. “She’s hiding something, Hawke! Don’t lie to me! I know it’s here! You must have found it.”

“I swear, I don’t know anything about an idol,” the woman pleaded. Varric advanced on her, but the entire house shook, and the woman paled further. “Maker, no! It’s starting again!” She fled, and Hawke turned as a scream echoed through the main hall.

“_Hawke!_” Anders shouted. “We need you out here, _now!_”

Hawke and Varric dashed out of the room, looking down the stairs. “Uh-oh.”

“Did we…” Hawke tilted her head. “Did we somehow miss a _golem_ when we came in?” Sure enough, there was a golem in the middle of the room, standing over the fallen form of the woman.

“It appears to be angry,” Varric said faintly.

“Yep.”

“It appears to be getting closer.”

“Yep.”

“Should we…run?”

“_Yep_.” The two sprinted down the other set of stairs as the golem crushed its way towards them, Hawke pausing just long enough to cast a layer of slick ice under the golem’s feet, sending it crashing to the floor. “Anders? Any tips?”

“We didn’t fight many golems,” Anders replied, scrambling down the stairs behind them as he cast a blob of grease on top of the golem. “Merrill! Fireball!” The grease ignited, and the party watched for a moment before the golem rose amidst the flames, stomping towards them. “I may not have thought that one all the way through.”

“Now it’s chasing us and _on fire_,” Hawke groaned, hitting the flaming golem in the chest with a blast of force to stagger it. Varric’s bolts seemed to pass right through the golem, and Hawke scowled. “What is this? Isabela, check on the woman! If she’s alive, get her out of the way!”

“On it!” Hawke hit the golem again, harder, and knocked it back a step, the golem’s feet gouging furrows in the floor tiles.

“Merrill, can you pin it?” Hawke called, hitting it with a third force spell. “Varric, get back! Magic’s the only thing that works!”

“I got it,” Anders said, casting a glyph under the golem’s feet. The golem froze in place. “That won’t hold it long,” he warned. “I’ll keep casting as long as I can.”

Hawke concentrated the next force spell, aiming for the same spot in the middle of the golem’s chest. The golem broke free a moment later, and Anders cast again, Merrill joining in with a petrification spell. Hawke kept slinging force spells, hitting the golem as quickly as she could without sacrificing the weight of the impact.

What Hawke failed to notice until it was too late was that Anders and Merrill were getting increasingly drained by casting and maintaining the spells holding the golem back. Merrill ran out of mana first, Anders a moment later, and Hawke’s eyes widened as the golem barreled forward, its massive stone fist slamming into her chest. She went skidding across the floor, her head spinning as Varric landed an incendiary bolt in front of the golem to draw its attention.

Merrill slashed a line across her hand, the blood burning into a sacrifice before it could hit the ground. She hit the golem with a massive bolus of magic where Hawke had been concentrating her force spells, the figure dissolving under the attack.

“Hawke, lay still,” Anders ordered. “You have twenty-three broken ribs.”

“How many do humans have?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Hey, that means one isn’t broken!” Hawke said, trying to ignore the rattling sounds coming from her midsection as Anders worked. “I’m counting that as a win!”

“What you _won_ was purple breasts for a week,” Anders replied.

When Anders pronounced her able to move, Hawke sat up with Isabela’s help, leaning against the wall. Varric was standing where the golem had been, looking at the floor. “Find something?”

“This…” Varric knelt, picking up a fragment that glowed red. “This is a piece of the idol. I should have known Bartrand would lie to me. Of course he’d keep a piece of the statue for himself. Think of what we could do with this.”

Hawke forced herself to her feet, ignoring how bad an idea her body informed her standing was. “Varric, you’ve been acting strangely since we arrived. I don’t think you want to keep that shard.”

“I know you’re just trying to look out for me, Hawke, but I can handle this!” Varric insisted. “It’s not the whole idol, just a sliver! I _need_ this thing! Six years of my life have gone into this! The shard is my only hope of curing Bartrand. It’s my only chance to set any of this right.”

“Listen to yourself, Varric,” Hawke urged. “It’s already controlling you! You have to let it go!”

“You’re not listening, Hawke. I know I can handle this shard!”

“I’m worried, Varric,” Hawke said softly. “You’re beginning to sound exactly like Bartrand.”

Varric paused, his face clouding. “Maker, you’re right.” He dropped it, stepping away. “Take it. It’s your problem now. Maybe ‘Enchantment!’ boy can dispose of the thing for you.” He shook his head. “Let’s go. I think I could use some air.”

Hawke knelt, wrapping the shard in a rag and tucking it into her belt.

—ROTC—

“Listen, Hawke, I don’t know what came over me back there,” Varric said. “I’m glad you’re watching my back.”

“You had me worried there.”

“You never have to worry about me, Hawke.” He scratched the back of his head. “This is a little awkward.”

“You, at a loss for words? I should mark this day on my calendar.”

“Enjoy this while it lasts,” Varric snarked. “It might never happen again. I just want to say, it’s been an honor knowing you.”

“You’re a good friend, Varric.”

“I know. It’s hard to know what you’d do without me.”

“Die, probably,” Hawke said. “What brought this on?”

“It’s an anniversary,” Varric explained. “Six years, today. Six years since I found you dragging your tail out of Bartrand’s office. And you’ve saved all our lives.”

Hawke tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it. Aveline would have died beside her husband. I would have gone down to the Deep Roads if Bartrand ever got the coin together. If we weren’t killed by the darkspawn, I would have been down there with him alone. Broody would still be running from Danarius, if he wasn’t caught again. Blondie would have been killed at the Chantry. Rivaini would have been outnumbered at that fight. Daisy would have been a single elf mage in a city of Templars. And Choir Boy would have had to hunt down his family’s murderers alone. We would all be dead without you, Hawke.”

Hawke leaned against the wall. “I had never considered that.”

“You’ve always been there for us,” Varric said. “And here’s to whatever comes next.”

—ROTC—

Hawke looted the bandit’s body, finding an intricately carved wooden ring. Recognizing the designs as elven, she pocketed it.

Merrill was leading the way up the path to Sundermount, when she stopped short. “Why?”

“Hm?” Hawke came up alongside her, before stopping herself. “They’re still here?”

“What is the Keeper thinking?” Merrill breathed. “What if the Templars come? Or an angry mob? This is madness!”

“Greetings, Champion,” the elven sentry said. “That is what they call you in your city, isn’t it? What brings you here?”

“I just wanted to know how your clan was doing,” Hawke replied. “I am surprised to see you still here. The Dalish usually move around, don’t they?”

“We are doing quite well, considering. It is our hope that one of our sister clans will give us some of their halla by year’s end.”

“That’s good to hear. Is Keeper Marethari available?” The elf pointed, and Hawke nodded politely as they entered the camp.

“Welcome home, da’len,” Marethari said as Merrill approached.

“This isn’t a homecoming, Keeper,” Merrill replied. “Why is the clan even here? You should have moved on ages ago!”

“The clan still has business here,” Marethari said stiffly. “We will leave when it is time.”

“It was ‘time’ three years ago!” Merrill protested. “You can’t stay here! Eventually the humans will force you to leave.”

“There are plenty of hiding places in these mountains,” Marethari replied. “We will stay until my business is done. If you are not returning to us, what has brought you back?”

“How can Merrill fix the eluvian?” Hawke asked.

Marethari scoffed. “I would not restore that cursed thing, even if I could. It has stolen life and promise from my clan already. And this was the _least_ treacherous thing it was capable of doing. You _must_ come to your senses, Merrill. This evil cannot be allowed in our world.”

“It is part of our world,” Merrill shot back. “It has been in our world for centuries! No one is pained more by Mahariel’s loss than I, but the mirror wasn’t responsible.” She shook her head. “But I’m wasting my time. You’d rather fear the past than reclaim it.” She looked to Hawke. “This is pointless, Hawke. Let’s go.”

They made their way up the mountain trail, breath fogging in the morning cold. “Does anybody else get the feeling that this is going to end badly?” Varric said, breaking the awkward silence. “Just me, huh?”

“It’s not all bad, Varric,” Merrill replied. “Think of the stories you’ll be able to tell later.”

“No offense Daisy, but I could live without telling anyone that we murdered you on some mountainside,” Varric sighed. “It’s little hard to made that one sound good.”

“We won’t be murdering her,” Hawke said stubbornly as they bypassed the cave, the rockslide that had blocked the trail having been cleared since they were last on Sundermount. “Because this isn’t going to go wrong. I’ll rip that demon limb from limb myself before I let it get Merrill.” She paused, looking at the altar at the overlook. “Remember this, Merrill?”

“It’s where we performed that ritual for Asha’bellanar,” Merrill said. “It’s an altar to Mythal.” She wiped some dust from the top of the altar. “Mythal, all-mother, protector of the People, watch over us, for the path we tread is perilous. Save us from the darkness, as you did before, and we will sing your name to the heavens.” She turned back to the others. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hold us. You just…it’s never wise to ignore Mythal.”

“Mythal is one of the elven gods, right?” Hawke asked. “You’ve mentioned her before.”

“She’s the protector, the mother of the Creators. The one who put the moon in the sky. Wisest of all the gods. When Elgar’nan defeated his father, the sun, the earth was plunged into darkness. Everything was about to perish. Mythal appeared then, calmed Elgar’nan, and restored the sun to the heavens. The People always look to her for help.”

“I’ll be right behind you in a minute, then,” Hawke said. Isabela gave her a curious look, but moved on with Varric and Merrill.

Hawke wet her lips. “Mythal, if you can hear me…please, watch over Merrill. I’m not one of your people, but she is, and…she means a lot to me. If there’s any way you could aid her, I would appreciate it.” She caught up with the others quickly.

“Oh, my stomach is full of butterflies,” Merrill said as they continued up the trail. “Not literally, mind you.” She closed her eyes. “Calm down, Merrill. Deep breaths. _Mythal’enaste_…”

“Who thought putting a demon in a cave on Sundermount was a good idea in the first place?” Varric asked, breathing heavily. “And all the way at the _top_ of the mountain?”

“Where would you have put him?” Merrill asked.

“Tevinter maybe? Or in the Anderfels? Further away from Kirkwall, that’s for sure.”

“We’re here,” Merrill said, a ball of magelight flaring in her hand as she led the way into the cave.

There were torches lit around the cave, the flames guttering green in the miniature sconces. “Veilfire,” Merrill explained at Hawke’s questioning look. “The ancient elves created it before the Imperium was founded. It burns without wood or oil, but it can be quenched easily.”

“Where’s the artifact?” Hawke asked.

“Over there.” There was an ornate, bizarrely designed statue in the back of the cave, surrounded by veilfire. The creature’s legs were crossed, and it had multiple arms – two crossed in front of it, two resting on its knees.

Hawke took one look at the demon statue, turned around, and grabbed Merrill, hoisting the elf over her shoulder and making for the exit. “Hawke, no,” Merrill urged.

“Hawke_ yes_!” the Champion replied. “I am _not _losing you to something that ugly!”

“Hawke, _please_!” Merrill said, struggling free and trying to push past Hawke. “You promised!”

Hawke grimaced. “_No_, Merrill! I’m not losing you too!”

“You won’t lose me!” Merrill said. “You said it yourself, this is going to work out!”

Hawke clutched Merrill’s hands, closing her eyes. “Please, be careful. Please.”

Isabela already had her knives drawn and was warily looking at the statue, her face set in a grim scowl. “Kitten, I trust you. Do what you need to do.”

Merrill swallowed hard, stepping up to the statue. She closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath, before pausing. “Something is wrong,” she said. “This is where the spirit was bound. But now, it feels…empty.”

“Oh good, let’s go home,” Hawke said brightly.

“Hawke,” Isabela replied.

Hawke scowled at her, but nodded. “Who bound it here in the first place? And why?”

“There was a war, long ago,” Merrill explained. “Between my people and the Tevinter Imperium. After the magisters sunk Arlathan, my people made a last stand here, fighting on the graves of our elders. I don’t know if it was the Elvhenan or Tevinter who bound the spirit, but he was left here from the war.”

“Could it have freed itself? Gotten loose on its own?” Hawke asked.

“It would have taken powerful magic to break him free of this prison,” Merrill said. “You couldn’t just set him loose. Nobody could. Not without doing something terrible. This is _very_ wrong.”

“Then it couldn’t have just vanished,” Hawke surmised. “That means…” Her eyes widened. “Was this cave always open?”

“No, there was a magical barrier erected by…” Merrill turned, her eyes widening as well. “Keeper Marethari.”

Hawke’s jaw dropped. “She…_she_ set the demon loose?”

“Not exactly,” Marethari gasped from the entrance to the cave.

“Keeper, what have you done?” Merrill whispered.

“The demon’s plan was always for you to complete the mirror,” Marethari explained. “It would have been a doorway out of this prison and into our world. You would have been his first victim. I couldn’t let that happen, da’len.”

“You stopped it, then,” Hawke said. “Right? You banished it?” Marethari didn’t answer. “You _did_ banish it, right?”

“The demon is still here,” Marethari replied. “I couldn’t fight it in the Fade while it was trapped. And I couldn’t banish it without making it stronger. So, I made myself its prison. Kill me, and it dies too. Merrill will finally be safe.”

“No! You can’t ask…” Merrill shook her head, stumbling back. “I won’t do this!”

“You always knew your blood magic would have a price,” Marethari gasped. “I have chosen to pay it for you.”

“And you couldn’t have just…told her what the demon was planning?” Hawke asked, drawing her staff as she recognized Marethari was losing control. “You know, maybe sat her down and talked to her like an equal instead of just expecting blind obedience?”

Marethari didn’t have the chance to answer, her body warping. Isabela’s knives sank into the Pride demon’s back as Hawke and Merrill opened up with lightning bolts, Varric’s incendiary bolt igniting the creature’s flesh as Hawke summoned more lightning, slinging spells as fast as she could muster the mana. Hawke swept her staff along the ground as Merrill unleashed a storm of spirit bolts, a wave of force magic knocking the legs out from under the demon and shattering the statue behind it as the demon hit the ground hard enough to knock everyone off-balance. Isabela was still slashing away with her knives as the demon lashed out at her, the massive spike on the demon’s elbow whizzing over her head close enough to catch her hair.

Merrill froze the demon’s legs to the ground and Hawke followed up with a downward spike of force, the limbs shattering with a spray of demonic ichor and a roar of pain from the demon.

“Hide behind your reason and your compromises, mortal!” the demon howled. “I will still destroy you!”

Varric loosed a rapid series of bolts into the demon’s face, and a pulse of magic knocked everyone off their feet. Hawke looked up, dazed, to see that the demon was gone, Marethari falling to her knees where the demon lay a moment before. Merrill pushed herself to her feet and ran to the Keeper. “Da’len?” Marethari whispered. Merrill knelt next to her, and Hawke tried to find where her feet had run off to. “You’ve beaten it, da’len. You are so much stronger than I imagined. The demon is dead.”

“Keeper, I…”

“Let’s leave this awful place,” Marethari said, standing. “The clan should hear the good news.”

“You told us the demon was bound to your life,” Hawke pointed out, struggling to her knees and drawing her dagger. “It would only die with you.”

A look of panic crossed Marethari’s face. “But we…”

Hawke tossed the dagger to Merrill, and the elf caught it, sinking it into Marethari’s gut. The Keeper’s blood gushed across Merrill’s hands. “Ir abelas, Keeper,” Merrill whispered. The Keeper collapsed, Merrill catching her and laying her down. “What have you done?” she moaned. “I don’t want this. I _never_ wanted this! Creators, please let this be a bad dream. I’ll wake up and feel like an idiot, and she’ll scold me for not listening…”

Hawke knelt next to her, Isabela on the other side. “You were trying to help your people,” Hawke said. “She should have had more faith.”

“If she hadn’t been so stubborn…” Merrill wept. “If she had listened to me! She never believed in me.”

The two held Merrill while she wept, Varric waiting silently off to the side. “We should get out of here,” Hawke said finally.

Merrill nodded, wiping her eyes. “I…I should go to the clan. Someone needs to know. Needs to come…take care of her.”

Hawke wrapped an arm around Merrill’s shoulders, guiding her out of the cave. Most of the Dalish clan were waiting outside. “Oh, great. What do you lot want now?”

“We know the Keeper came here,” the lead elf – Fenarel, Hawke remembered – said. “What’s going on? Where is she?”

“Fenarel, the Keeper, she…” Merrill broke off.

“Look at her, Fenarel,” Ineria said. “She’s covered in blood!”

“What have you done, Merrill?” Fenarel breathed, before turning to the cave entrance. “Keeper! Can you hear me?”

“She’s dead,” Merrill whimpered.

“I should have guessed you’d turn on her, you monster,” Ineria snapped.

“This was a tragedy,” Hawke interjected, realizing the situation was about to turn violent. “I promise you, I’ll make sure no one else is hurt by Merrill’s blood magic.”

“You expect us to take the word of a shemlen?” Ineria demanded.

“Stand down, Ineria,” Fenarel said tiredly. “She was our First, once. The Keeper loved her. More than she loved the clan, it seems.”

“Fenarel, I’m sorry,” Merrill wept. “I never wanted this. If I could have saved her…if I could have died instead, I would have.”

“Words are cheap,” Ineria spat. “That you’re still breathing says enough.”

“Enough, Ineria,” Fenarel said. “Human, take Merrill away from here.”

“They’ll never forgive me,” Merrill whispered as they ventured down the mountain. “If you weren’t here, Hawke, they’d kill me.”

“Let’s just get out of here,” Hawke said. “Not like there was any painfully obvious way that this tragedy could have been avoided. Oh. Wait. _There absolutely was_.”

—ROTC—

Hawke and Merrill were in Merrill’s alienage house that evening, where Merrill had finally cried herself out. Hawke was sitting on Merrill’s bed with her back against the wall, the elf between her legs with Merrill’s back pressed against her front. “She’s gone,” Merrill whispered. “She’s really gone.” Hawke was gently stroking Merrill’s hair, letting her let it out. “How did all of this happen?”

“Marethari was after you to stop using blood magic, but in the end, _her_ pride was the bigger danger to her clan.” Merrill turned around in surprise, and Hawke held up a hand. “Hear me out. It was dangerous of her to take the demon on alone, but it was also for also keeping the clan there for so long, for not stopping the rumors, and for not telling the clan that she was engaging in a ritual that would lead to her death. If she hadn’t made the decision alone, the entire clan might have turned on us. All because she had to prove a point to you about the dangers of blood magic. Dangers that you _knew _about, that you accepted! She said you always knew that there was a price to you blood magic and that she chose to pay it for you.”

“And she was right.”

“She was,” Hawke agreed. “You knew of the price as well, and you took precautions. You brought us along. You were willing to pay the price for helping your people. Marethari was willing to pay the price to protect you, and her way left the rest of the clan hanging out to dry. A Keeper is supposed to care for the entire clan, you told me that yourself. Caring as a leader means more than just barking orders, the people who follow you have to know why you’re telling them to do something. She knew the demon was manipulating you into trying to restore the eluvian and it never occurred to her to explain that to either of us until it was far too late. If she simply explained to me why she wanted to keep you out of harm’s way, maybe I might have talked you out of it.”

“Not likely,” Merrill said, wiping at her eyes.

“She might not have trusted me when we met, but you’d think that after we became such good friends, after I got Feynriel to the Dalish and helped him survive his demon problems, after everything I’ve done to help the clan!” Hawke sighed. “That she would have realized that I was a friend.”

“You’re right,” Merrill said miserably. “But it’s not like we can do anything about it now. Why didn’t any of them listen to me? All this time, I thought…I could help them. Save them. But they won’t let me, will they? They’ll destroy themselves to escape my help.”

“You can’t help people without their consent,” Hawke replied. “I’m sorry, Merrill.”

“No, I suppose I can’t. All the time I’ve wasted…maybe it’s time I stopped living for them. My people will kill me if I go back. I’m all alone. What will I do now?”

“There are plenty of elves in Kirkwall who could use your help,” Hawke said. “Keep studying the eluvian if you want. Whatever you do next, we’ll do it together.” She paused. “While we were up there, I found something you might like. I don’t know when a good time will come along to give it to you, so…” she handed over the ring, and Merrill’s eyes widened.

“It’s beautiful! Do you know what it is?”

“I only know that it was made by the Dalish,” Hawke said.

“It’s sylvanwood. Rare as diamonds. You only find it in very old, very wild places. The carvings tell the story of the Betrayal. The Dread Wolf tricking all the gods away from the world.”

“You’ve told me this story,” Hawke said. “The Creators looked after the People, right? And the…Forgotten Ones, preyed upon you?” Merrill nodded. “And Fen’Harel was working on both sides, and tricked both sides into believing that the other side had some weapon that would end the war. Then he sealed both groups away.”

“You remembered,” Merrill said softly.

Hawke shrugged. “Of course I remembered. It’s an important story to the Dalish. That makes it important to you, which makes it important to me.” She paused. “I imagine they don’t depict the doom of their goods just for decoration.”

“Not exactly, no,” Merrill admitted. “This was made for a Keeper, you see. Guarding a clan from the Dread Wolf is a Keeper’s place.” She slipped the ring on her finger. “It’s a very sweet memento, thank you.”

“Merrill,” Hawke said, cupping her lover’s face. Merrill looked exhausted, her face drawn and pale under her tattoos, with dark circles under her eyes. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying, but she was still one of the most beautiful people Hawke had ever seen. “You’re not alone. We’re your clan now.”

The door opened. “I’m back!” Isabela called, coming in with a box of food and a bottle of wine under her arm. She eyed Merrill fondly. “How are you, Kitten?”

Merrill shrugged miserably. “I just…I’m lost. I devoted years of my life to this project. Even you two don’t approve or understand.” Isabela frowned, and Merrill pushed on. “You two are supportive, but that’s because you’re my friends, not because you really appreciate what I was trying to do. I never forgot that I was dealing with a spirit, that all spirits are dangerous. Anders did, and it’s cost him dearly. You always have to be careful.” Hawke let her get it out. “The arulin’holm wasn’t enough to fix the eluvian. I needed more information, that’s all. And I knew there was a chance I would be possessed. That’s why I brought you two along.”

“You were never going to get possessed,” Isabela said calmly.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. Your Keeper had no idea we were coming. We took the shortest route to the summit, and she would have had to leave after we got there.”

Merrill paused, her eyes widening. “That means…”

“She was possessed long before we got there,” Isabela finished. “Who knows how long she was an abomination before we killed her?”

“I can’t believe it,” Merrill breathed. “The Keeper, the wisest person in our whole clan, doing something that reckless. She said she was trying to protect me, that the demon was lying to me.”

“If the eluvians lead to the Fade, how would the ancient elves have used them to travel?” Hawke asked. “The last time anyone physically entered the Fade, it…ended badly. At least, if you believe the stories. It doesn’t make any sense that the demon would have been able to enter our world through the mirror. And it wasn’t even in the Fade! It was bound in the artifact!”

“Even if it had gotten loose, we could have killed it,” Merrill said. “If it had possessed me, you could have killed it. I wouldn't like that outcome very much, and it would have been hard on you, but we already knew that it might come to that. You were prepared to respect my decision. Keeper Marethari wasn't.”

“She wanted to protect you like you were still a child,” Hawke said. “You weren’t her responsibility anymore. The clan was.” She wrapped Merrill in a hug from behind. “You’re never going to be alone, Merrill. You’ve got us.” Isabela hugged her from the front, and Merrill closed her eyes tightly.

“Thanks, you two.”

—ROTC—

“So what mischief are we getting into today?” Isabela asked.

“Well, an Antivan noble named Nuncio is in the city and has asked for assistance,” Hawke held up the letter. “Didn’t give many details, but it’s worth looking into.”

“Antivans are always good for some excitement,” Varric said.

Nuncio was waiting in the Red Lantern District, two of his men behind him. “Ah, the Champion of Kirkwall. Your reputation precedes you.” Hawke inclined her head in greeting. “My name is Nuncio Caldera Lanos, a noble from the beautiful country of Antiva.”

“You asked for my assistance,” Hawke said. “What brings you to Kirkwall?”

“An elven assassin I have been chasing is loose in the area,” Nuncio explained. “Unfortunately, he’s hidden himself among the local Dalish, no doubt playing on their shared heritage. He’s a master manipulator who will endanger even his own kind to ensure his survival.”

“Hunting an assassin seems a strange task for a noble,” Hawke commented. “Why are you after him?”

“At first it was merely duty to Antiva,” Nuncio said. “But after losing so many good men to him, it became…rather personal. He is nothing but a murderer, a thief, and a liar.”

“Your assassin is no fool. I doubt the Dalish would hand a fellow elf over to you, whether he’s a murderer or not.”

“So you see my problem,” Nuncio said. “Where that elf goes, death follows. He must be captured quickly. I’ve heard of your dealings with the Dalish. I was hoping you could go where my men could not. Find out where the assassin is hiding, and apprehend him.”

“If there’s an assassin in the area, he’s best caught, and soon,” Hawke pronounced. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“One of the Dalish, a woman named Variel, is a friend of his. I suggest speaking with her first.”

“We won’t be here when you get back,” one of Nuncio’s men said. “We got a campsite outside the city. Look for us there.”

“If we’re going to the Dalish…” Hawke paused. “I guess we can’t take Merrill.”

“Probably not a good idea,” Varric said. “You, me, Isabela, and Fenris?”

—ROTC—

Although the reception was as frosty as ever at the Dalish camp, they at least recognized the good Hawke had done for them in the past and allowed them passage. Variel was a relatively young Dalish elf, not far from the campfire where Marethari had kept her vigil. “I am sorry we are in such disarray with Keeper Marethari gone,” she said. “Is there something you need? Perhaps I can help?”

“I understand there is a criminal hiding among the Dalish,” Hawke said.

“He is not among us,” Variel replied. “This ‘criminal’ of yours is set up in a cave away from our camp. He said there would be people looking for him, and to tell anyone who asked where he was.”

“Why would he give away his position?” Hawke asked.

“He said he didn’t want to endanger our people by asking us to lie for him. Not something you’d expect from a cruel and evil murderer, is it?”

“I’m not quite buying the ‘criminal’ label as it is,” Hawke said. “This only makes me doubt it more.”

“He’ll be waiting for you at the cave,” Variel replied. “Good luck trying to reach him, however.”

“This assassin is strange indeed,” Fenris said as they crossed the camp. “Why do you think he would give away his position?”

“He’s trying to choose the battleground,” Isabela said. “If this Antivan murderer is who I think it is…” A grin flitted across her features.

The cave appeared deserted, although several corpses were scattered around some triggered incendiary traps. “Impressive work,” Varric said, examining the traps.

“From the look of these traps, the assassin was definitely expecting company,” Isabela said.

“Now _you_, I wasn’t expecting,” an accented voice called. A dark-skinned elf in leathers emerged from deeper in the cave, and Hawke noticed tattoos curling down one side of his face.

Isabela smirked. “I thought I smelled Antivan leather.”

The elf laughed. “Isabela! If it isn’t my favorite pirate wench!”

“Shouldn’t you be dead by now?” Isabela asked.

“I could say the same, my dear,” the elf replied. “It seems we were both fortunate to find powerful friends, no?” He looked at Hawke. “Tell me, is this one as adventurous as our dear Warden?”

“We could always ask,” Isabela purred.

“I do love an audience, but perhaps there are other matters to attend to first?”

Isabela sighed. “Prude.”

Hawke had been watching the byplay with no small amount of amusement, and the elf held out a hand to her. Hawke took it, expecting a simple handshake, but the elf bent at the waist, brushing his lips over the back of her knuckles. “How do you do? My name is Zevran Arainai, adventurer and occasional assassin.” Hawke found herself blushing, and was momentarily irritated by how charming the elf was. “I must admit, I was waiting for an assault by the Crows, not the mighty Champion of Kirkwall!”

“You’re familiar with me?”

“Slayer of Qunari, Deep Roads explorer, and a beauty to make the gods jealous? You underestimate your fame!”

“Pardon my curiosity,” Hawke said. “But how do you two know each other?”

“How does anyone know Isabela?” Zevran asked with a smirk.

“Yes, well, you’ll never know Isabela again if you keep _that_ up,” Isabela said primly.

“Wait, _that_ Zevran?” Hawke asked. “The one who knifed your husband?”

“The one and only,” Zevran said proudly. “Former Antivan Crow, former companion of the Hero of Ferelden, and currently a man hunted by his former employers. I am no longer a Crow, a fact they find unacceptable. That alone would be offense enough, believe me, but I may have also killed the last four assassins they sent after me. And all their men. Oh, and the Guildmaster.”

“Is that all?” Hawke asked with a smile.

“In fact, if you were a Crow you might make a fortune bringing me in! You should consider a career change.” He laughed. “No. Really.”

Hawke tilted her head. “I knew Nuncio wasn’t telling me something, but I didn’t think he was _completely_ full of shit.”

“Ah, Nuncio,” Zevran said. “Let me guess, he asked you to capture a dangerous killer, yes? What did he say this time? That I killed his wife? Butchered his parents? Sold his children into slavery? Or did he tell you he was a lawman from Antiva, charged with apprehending a ridiculously handsome fugitive?”

“He didn’t mention how handsome,” Hawke remarked.

“Ah, so you’ve noticed,” Zevran said. “I credit my high cheekbones and pouty lips. Bring me to Nuncio if you wish, but I warn you: he surely intends to kill you. The Crows do not like loose ends, unlike myself. But you are a woman who can clearly handle herself, yes? Why worry? So you can either tie me up, gag me, and then manhandle me…or you can take me to Nuncio.” He winked. “Which will it be, I wonder?”

“You know him best,” Hawke said to Isabela. “What do you think?”

“I’ve had better,” Isabela said with a shrug. Zevran pouted.

Hawke rolled her eyes. “I meant about letting him go or not.”

“Oh. Right. I’d let him go.”

“You’re very compliant for a fugitive,” Hawke pointed out.

“Compliant, yes, and very bendy. But truthfully? I know when I am outmatched. I would rather take my chances against the Crows.”

“I like your list of options,” Hawke said. “But does it have to be in that order?”

“It’s the accent, isn’t it?” Zevran asked.

“You are _very_ persuasive. I must admit, Isabela vouching for you counts for a great deal. I suppose we’ll have to deal with Nuncio.”

“If you don’t, he will only come after you,” Zevran said. “It’s been more than a pleasure, Champion. Fare you well.” He left, and Hawke fought a smile as she glanced at Isabela.

—ROTC—

“You didn’t tell me the assassin you wanted captured was one of your own,” Hawke called as she entered the camp. There were several more men waiting, and Nuncio’s face was stormy.

“Ah, so Zevran told you, did he?” Nuncio said. “It really doesn’t matter. This time his Warden isn’t here to protect him. I am thoroughly disappointed in you. No one fails the Crows and lives.”

Hawke smirked. “Weren’t there seven of you a moment ago?”

Nuncio looked around, counting his men. “Where’s Tomas?” He demanded. The others looked around. “What have you done?”

“Me? Not a thing,” Hawke said innocently.

“Poor, stupid Nuncio. That would been my work.” Zevran stepped out, flicking blood off his dagger. “The Crows do like saying that they do not accept failure, but I am living proof it’s a lie.” He snorted. “Why they insist on thinking they can kill people like you and the Warden, I will never guess.”

“You are nothing but a traitor and a coward, Zevran,” Nuncio snarled. “You’ll die here!”

Zevran spun, burying a dagger in the eye socket of a man who had been trying to catch him from behind. He wrenched the blade free, giving Nuncio a grim smile. “Yes, well, let’s see how that works out for you.”

Zevran’s swordsmanship was exemplary, and alongside Isabela he made quick work of the fighters that Hawke, Fenris, and Varric weren’t busily murdering. “Nothing quite like a battle to get the blood pumping,” Hawke remarked.

“Agreed,” Zevran said. “Killing my former brothers-in-arms is oddly satisfying. I’ve little reward to offer you, Champion, I’m afraid.”

Hawke held up a hand. “Helping a friend of Isabela’s was enough. She told me what you did for her.” She gave Zevran a lascivious grin. “And _to_ her.”

“Speaking of which,” Zevran said, bowing to the pirate. “My dear Isabela, it has been a delight to see you again. You travel in fine company.”

“That’s it?” Isabela asked, looting up from relieving Nuncio’s corpse of its valuables. “You’re leaving? What about sex?”

Zevran burst out laughing. “Still as blunt as a dwarven hammer, hm? Why not?”

“Hey,” Hawke objected.

“What?” Isabela asked. “You can come too.”

“Indeed! The more the merrier!”

Hawke paused. “Isabela, quick conference.” The two stepped away, talking quietly, and Isabela whispered something in Hawke’s ear that made the Champion’s jaw drop and her cheeks flush. “_Sold_. Come by the estate this evening, if you would be so kind.”

“Are we sure he was part of a guild of _assassins_?” Fenris asked skeptically as they left the camp.

—ROTC—

“Thank you for sparing me the details,” Cassandra said quietly.

“Oh, I’m not done,” Varric replied.

“_Varric_.”

“Trust me, will you?”

—ROTC—

“You know,” Hawke said, giving Isabela a sidelong glance, “when you said ‘magical in bed,’ I had expected…”

“Is this your card?” Zevran asked, holding up the card Hawke had selected earlier.

“Holy shit,” Hawke breathed.

—ROTC—

“And that’s all they told me about,” Varric said.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Proceed.”

—ROTC—

Hawke looked at the letter, bearing the Templar Order’s seal. “Oh, I’m sure _this _contains nothing but good news.” She broke the seal. “Champion, I require your assistance in a matter of great urgency. Please report to the Templar Hall in the Gallows at your earliest convenience.” She snorted. “Yeah. I’m sure my earliest convenience is a long way off. Report to the Gallows? She expects me to walk in there so she can arrest me without anyone knowing?”

—ROTC—

_Zevran Arainai  
We are in danger, friend. Two of the seven Guildmasters are already in Zevran Arainai’s pocket, and the Guildmaster of Rialto is dead. While no proof exists, we both know he was involved whether he claims the deed or not. They should have released him when they discovered he lived, “honor of the Antivan Crows” be damned. What option do we have now?_

_After centuries of unity that have led us to rule a nation from the shadows and have placed kings and queens in our pockets, we are being torn apart from within by a single elf who didn’t even succeed in his mission to kill the so-called Hero of Ferelden. How could anyone have guessed that the Grey Warden would recruit him rather than kill him? That Zevran would help defeat the Blight and become a hero within the Crows, even as we branded him anathema?_

_The Guildmasters dismissed Zevran’s threat without considering just how many assassins were similarly disaffected. Too many of our numbers have been cheated out of their rightful tithes, driven into hiding, or intimidated into silence... and somehow, Zevran is finding them all. You report that he is not in Antiva, but that isn’t always the case. He appears in a city until our operatives find him and chase him out into Rivain or the Free Marches—and then we never hear from them again. We have both spoken to the remaining Guildmasters, and they have denied us. They are blind, and it makes me think maybe Zevran is right. Perhaps it is time for a change._

_\-- From a half-burned letter found in a Treviso warehouse, 9:35 Dragon._

_Between the Tevinter Imperium, Rivain, and the Free Marches sits the nation of Antiva. Although it possesses few resources of its own, Antiva’s location makes it a center for trade in the north, and the capital, Antiva City, is the wealthiest in the world. Antiva has virtually no army--the monarchy is too weak to support one. Most Antivans would be hard-pressed even to name the current king--as the true power lies in the hands of a dozen merchant princes, each with a personal army, and each locked in a constant struggle for power against all the others._

_Anyone would think, then, that Antiva would be a ripe target for invasion by one of her neighbors, but even the Qunari leave Antiva alone for one very good reason: the House of Crows. The most efficient, most feared, and most expensive guild of assassins in the world calls Antiva their home, and their reputation alone defends the borders._

_Zevran was the Crow contracted by Loghain to assassinate Alistair and Daylen Amell. One failed attempt later, however, he found himself at the mercy of his would-be victims. They showed him unexpected mercy, and in return he swore to aid the Wardens on their quest to end the Blight. He maintained that loyalty even at the cost of the lives of his Antivan brothers._

_After the Blight, Daylen persuaded him to stay on and help train the new Fereldan Grey Wardens, but eventually the two parted ways, Zevran returning to his homeland of Antiva. He spent the next few years teaching his former employers the meaning of failure, systematically ripping apart the House of Crows before he encountered the Champion of Kirkwall. Empresses, kings, archons, and idolized generals all refuse to risk the wrath of the Antivan Crows no matter how many countries they have conquered before, but Zevran is single-handedly burning them out of their nests._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	23. Conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mage hunting, hostage rescue, and hunting down dumbasses. Also a gratuitous cameo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Grand Cleric Elthina  
“We will never have peace unless we try to understand one another.”_

_Revered Mother Elthina assumed the mantle of grand cleric almost twenty years ago; she is responsible for the spiritual well-being of the southern Free Marches (everything south of Starkhaven and the Minanter River). She has long been a calming presence in the city, renowned for her kindness and generosity. People frequently turn to her to mediate disputes—particularly those involving the powerful Templar Order, over whom she holds authority as the Chantry’s ranking representative._

_Some claim that Elthina’s advanced age has rendered her ineffective, and that she allows Knight-Commander Meredith more leeway with each passing year. Some are calling on the new Divine, Justinia V, to appoint a replacement—but they do so quietly, for Elthina is by far the most beloved priest the city has ever known._

—ROTC—

“Hello Cullen!” Hawke said. “Out collecting donations for the Templars’ ball?”

“We don’t have balls,” Cullen said flatly.

Hawke paused, unable to believe Cullen had said that with a straight face. Varric closed his eyes, and Isabela bit down on a knuckle so hard Hawke was amazed she didn’t draw blood. Anders was stonefaced, but his eyes were alight with repressed laughter.

“I honestly have no response to that,” Hawke finally said.

“It seems you’ve become less a friend to the Templars in the years since your ascent,” Cullen said guardedly. “But surely you’re the only mage in Kirkwall who can approach the knight-commander directly if you wished.”

“The only one who could expect to survive the encounter, at least,” Hawke said.

“I hope the Order can count on your support when the time comes, Champion.”

Hawke stared at him, before bursting out laughing. “Oh, boy, you weren’t made knight-captain for paying attention, were you.” Cullen scowled, and Hawke subsided. “Everyone’s saying the knight-commander’s gone crazy. Are you still behind her?”

“The people ask too much of her,” Cullen said. “She needs a spine of iron to survive her position. I have seen madness before. I saw Uldred’s eyes when there was nothing human left in them. The knight-commander…she is not there yet. But I do not have to ask where the rumors come from.”

“What brings you here, Cullen.”

“It has been some time since your presence at the Gallows was requested, and you have failed to appear,” Cullen replied.

“Walking into a building full of Templars seems a rather stupid idea,” Hawke replied. “Why would I report to someone who clearly wants me dead?”

“The Knight-Commander does not wish to cause you harm,” Cullen insisted. “She requires your assistance on a delicate matter.”

“Removing the stick from her ass?” Hawke asked. “The armor is impressive and all, but she’s not my type.” Cullen gave her an irritated look. “Or did she pick up a rash someplace? Surely First Enchanter Orsino hasn’t suffered a convenient accident and could help her out.” Cullen’s look darkened further, and Hawke realized that while ribbing a Templar was fun, starting a fight with one might be harder to explain. However, Hawke was also not done yet. “I understand she’s sent to Val Royeaux for the Right of Annulment,” she said. “And that the Grand Cleric has done nothing to stop her.”

“I could not comment on the Right of Annulment,” Cullen replied stiffly. “But Grand Cleric Elthina is bound by faith and duty to support the Templars. We have dominance over mages by divine right. But it is cruel how she leads them on, letting them think might have a chance at rebellion.”

“You know, people keep talking about this ‘rebellion,’ but considering that the Circle mages have been confined to their cells and forbidden from entering the Gallows courtyard?” Hawke shrugged. “I’m finding it difficult to see any rebellion. Perhaps you have some insight that I don’t.”

“After what happened in Ferelden, I told myself I would never again question the purpose of the Order,” Cullen admitted. “But it grows harder each day to tell whether I am serving the Templars, or only the knight-commander. It may be that they are no longer one and the same.”

“Cullen, you and I disagree on…” Hawke paused. “Well, everything. But if you were ever going to listen to something that I have to say, let it be now. Justice, or order. One day, you are going to have to make that choice. Think about that.”

Entering the Templar Hall at the Gallows was a tense moment, and Hawke took a steadying breath as they moved down the hall towards Meredith’s office. The woman was behind a large desk, and she stood as they entered. “Champion. Welcome.”

“Tell me why I’m here,” Hawke said without preamble.

“There was an incident within the Gallows. A number of phylacteries were destroyed and several mages took the opportunity to escape. We’ve recovered most of the fugitives. However, I require your assistance in tracking down the last three.” She noticed Hawke staring at the wall. “Are you even listening?”

Hawke nodded, looking over. “I hang on every word.”

“I’m going to assume that’s sarcasm.”

“Correct.”

“So you weren’t listening?”

“I’m barely listening now.”

“_Champion_.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard, it just takes me a while to process so much stupid all at once. Your Templars are incompetent, mages escaped, you want me to round them up. How did the phylacteries get destroyed?”

“An insurrection. Several of my own Templars orchestrated the escape, presumably out of sympathy for the mages. They turned their backs on their duty and endangered their charges, as well as the city. Thankfully, most who escaped fled to their families and offered no resistance. The last three are proving more…difficult.”

“Eat my entire ass, Meredith,” Hawke said, her hand bursting into flame as she made a particularly rude gesture at the woman. “I will force no mage back under your yoke.”

Meredith’s tone grew colder. “Let me be very clear on this matter, then. You are an apostate. One who operates freely only because you have been a protector to this city. If I suspect that is no longer the case, then I may decide your status needs to change.”

“Threats aren’t going to work,” Hawke replied, just as coldly. “You don’t have enough Templars.”

“I am not threatening you,” Meredith said, looking pointedly at Anders and Merrill. “I am asking you to justify the confidence Kirkwall has granted you. With the influence you wield in this city, Champion, it is crucial that you understand just what we face. Talk to these mages’ families, investigate for yourself whether they need to be recaptured.”

“And you aren’t afraid of what I’ll do?”

“I hope you’ll do the right thing,” Meredith said. “You do not approve of my methods, but perhaps you will change your mind when you see, firsthand, how dangerous these apostates are. Speak to my assistant, Elsa. She can tell you whatever you need to know about the fugitives. Good day, Champion.”

They found Elsa in a courtyard nearby, the brand on her forehead identifying her as a Tranquil. “Good day, Champion of Kirkwall,” she said flatly. “Knight-Commander Meredith has informed me that you will be tracking down and recapturing the apostates on behalf of the Templars. There are three of them. Huon, Emile, and Evelina.”

“Please, tell me about them.”

“Huon is an elf. He was apprehended in the alienage ten years ago. His wife, Nyssa, works for a dressmaker in Lowtown and insists she has not seen him since he joined the Circle. The Templars’ searches uncovered no sign of Huon in the alienage and have also concluded that few other elves would risk hiding him. Huon was taken many years ago. Most of the alienage’s inhabitants do not even know him. Evelina was trained for eight years in the Circle in Ferelden, but claims to have come to Kirkwall to flee the Blight. She presented herself to the first enchanter on her arrival and asked to take her place here. She was last seen in her former residence among the refugee community in Darktown, where Templars tracked her, but she killed several pursuers. The Templars believe she is the most dangerous apostate. Our files indicate she petitioned Meredith for financial support of numerous pre-adolescent Blight survivors. Emile de Launcet is the fifth son of Comte Guillaume de Launcet, a minor noble from Orlais. The comte and comtesse say they have not seen Emile since he was a child, and they came to the Free Marches over three decades ago. Emile was born in Kirkwall, and sent to the Circle at age six.”

Hawke nodded, processing the information. “Why does Meredith have a Tranquil assistant?” she asked.

“The knight-commander believes Tranquil mages to be efficient and single-minded. I, in particular, am extremely organized.”

Hawke fought back her revulsion at using another human being as a personal organizer. “Are these apostates blood mages?”

“The knight-commander suspects this, yes.”

“But she doesn’t _know_ it,” Hawke pressed.

“Doesn’t matter,” Anders said. “If they suspect you, that’s all the proof they need.”

“He speaks truly,” Elsa said. “The knight-commander tends to assume all apostates practice blood magic. She prefers to err on the side of caution.”

“That’s all the information I need,” Hawke said. “Thank you, Elsa.”

“Good luck on your search, Champion of Kirkwall.”

“I need a bath,” Hawke muttered as they walked away. “Clever of Meredith. She’s got me cornered here. I help her or give proof that I can’t be trusted to help protect the city. By forcing me to hunt these mages down, she isolates me from the mage underground and makes me look like a Chantry supporter.”

“What are you going to do?” Anders asked.

“I’m going to find these mages,” Hawke said. “And if I can help them, I will.”

—ROTC—

“I’m glad you’ve come along, Merrill,” Hawke said. “I may be Champion, but these elves have no reason to trust me.”

“You know I’ll always be there if you need me,” Merrill replied. “You’re always there for me.” She nodded at an elven woman working at a stand in the alienage. “That’s Nyssa.”

“Oh, greetings, messere,” Nyssa said as Hawke coughed to get her attention. Her eyes widened as Merrill stepped forward. “Merrill? What are you doing here?”

“We’re here about Huon, Nyssa,” Merrill said softly.

Nyssa’s eyes flicked to Hawke momentarily. “Oh.”

“She’s all right,” Merrill replied. “We’re here to help, if we can.”

“When the Templars came, I told them the truth. I hadn’t seen Huon in ten years. But after they left, he…he came to me. He wanted me to hide him. I used to dream of him returning. But not like this. He’s changed, and I don’t know him anymore. I sent him away.”

“Changed how?” Hawke asked.

“He was obsessed with showing everyone ‘true elven power,’” Nyssa explained. “He frightened me.”

“Did he hurt you?”

Nyssa shook her head. “Only broke my heart.”

“Did he use any magic?” Hawke asked.

“I…I don’t know,” Nyssa admitted. “I don’t think he used magic on me.”

“Ten years is a long time,” Hawke said softly. “You hadn’t seen him since the Templars took him?”

Nyssa nodded. “When the Templars found out he was a mage, they chained him and dragged him from the alienage. In front of everyone. Now, I’m trapped in this…this sham. Married, but with no husband, and no future.”

“Do you know where Huon went after you sent him away?” Hawke asked.

Another shake of her head. “I don’t know. He disappeared. But before he left, he said he would return to take me away from this forever. I don’t know what he means, and I am afraid of him, messere.”

“Merrill, would you mind staying here with her for a bit?” Hawke asked.

“Of course,” Merrill said immediately.

“We’ll be back,” Hawke said. “We’ll make sure you’re safe.”

“I would be grateful,” Nyssa admitted. “Huon said he would come to the alienage soon, at nightfall.” She paused. “Are you…are you going to arrest him? I think he needs help. Maybe the Circle will be able to heal whatever troubles him.”

“The Circle caused this, they won’t be able to fix it,” Hawke said. “If we can help him, if it turns out to be nothing, we’ll help him any way we can.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“No harm gets done to you and yours,” Hawke said.

—ROTC—

With Anders’ connections among the destitute of Darktown, finding the orphans Evelina had tried to help was difficult but feasible. A woman whose child Anders had delivered pointed out two of the orphans, a young man named Walter and a raw-boned youth who went by Cricket. Walter’s face darkened as they approached. “We got nothing here you’d want. Get back to Hightown and leave us alone!”

“I’m looking for Evelina,” Hawke said. “I understand she’s in trouble.”

“She shared everything she had with us,” Walter replied. “She found us when the darkspawn came, when our parents died. She made sure she got to Kirkwall safely.”

“I miss her,” Cricket said softly.

“But when she went to join the Circle here, they called her apostate for leaving the tower in Ferelden. They locked her up.”

“You’re not the only ones who fled Ferelden,” Hawke said. “I was from Lothering.”

“Until we got here, I thought we were the only ones who’d survived,” Walter admitted.

“Templars took her and didn’t care about you,” Hawke said. “Figures. Why did she go to the Circle?”

“She didn’t want us to be stuck in Darktown,” Walter replied. “She wanted to give us a real life. She thought the Circle would help her, help us, but they just locked her away.”

“The Templars think she’s dangerous, they claim she’s killed several pursuers, but I’ve seen the Templars’ idea of justice,” Hawke said. “You have no reason to trust me, but if I can help Evelina…”

“No one can help her,” Walter replied.

“The Templars made Evelina angry,” Cricket piped up. “They made her change. It wasn’t her fault! When it was over, she was ashamed. She ran into the tunnels and hid.”

“Shut up, Cricket!” Walter hissed. “Don’t tell them that!” He turned to Hawke. “You can’t go there. She’ll know we told you and she’ll be angry at us!” Cricket bolted, and Walter took off after him. Hawke and her companions pursued, entering the sewer tunnels. When they finally caught up to them, Walter was ashen-faced and panting. “I thought if we warned her about you, she wouldn’t be angry. But then she…”

“_Walter…_” Walter stiffened at the sing-song voice echoing in the tunnels.

“She’s coming,” Walter whispered. “_Run!_” He and Cricket took off, only to skid to a halt in front of Evelina.

“There you are,” Evelina said. “Don’t run from me, Walter. You know those are the rules.”

“You’re not going to touch these children,” Hawke called. “Evelina, if that’s still you in there, you need to stop before anyone else gets hurt.”

“You play the hero well, but I see through it,” Evelina spat. “You’re Fereldan, like us, but you feast on sweetmeats while your people starve in the Undercity.” Her voice took on a reverberating note as she closed on Hawke. “I spit on you, traitor, and on the pathetic Templars that sent you.”

“I wanted to help you,” Hawke said softly.

“I do not need your help,” Evelina growled, her form twisting into an abomination’s. “Kirkwall should be mine! Then my children will have a whole city to play in.”

Hawke and Anders both hit the abomination with lightning bolts before it could move, Varric’s arrow sinking into what passed for the abomination’s face a moment later. “You’re getting slow,” Hawke chided him as the abomination collapsed. “Why do they always monologue instead of attacking?”

“I don’t understand,” Walter said, and Hawke jerked around, surprised he was still there. “Eveline loved us. She saved us. Why would she try to hurt us now?”

“Evelina would never hurt you, child,” Hawke said soothingly. “That was a demon. Remember her as she was – a brave, kind, loving woman.” Walter nodded, scrubbing at his eyes.

“This isn’t going to stop,” Anders said. “The Templars force our hand. They make us take drastic measures, just to be free.”

“Like Evelina did.”

Anders nodded. “Exactly. She escaped to look after you, and only fought to defend herself. If the Templars hadn’t chased her, she wouldn’t have become…what she did.”

“I just don’t know what we’ll do now,” Walter admitted.

Hawke pulled some coin from her pouch. “Take this, and use it wisely. Come to my estate in Hightown, ask for Bodahn. He might be able to get you a job.”

Walter nodded. “Thank you, messere. I should go buy some food for the others. They’ve been hungry for a long time.”

—ROTC—

“Why exactly are you bringing me along on this?” Aveline asked as they approached the de Launcet mansion. “Surely the Champion has sufficient presence.”

“I want this done as a representative of the city and the guard, not the Templars.”

Aveline nodded in understanding. “That’s reasonable. I’m not sure what help I’ll be, the de Launcets spend most of their time authoring complaints.”

They entered the mansion, the butler standing silently in the foyer, his eyes closed. There was a moment of awkward silence, before he casually stepped aside, a woman in an Orlesian-cut gown entering the foyer. “Good evening, Comtesse,” Hawke said.

“Oh, the Champion of Kirkwall!” the Comtesse replied. “This is marvelous. You honor this household. Please, come in.”

“With pleasure, Comtesse,” Hawke said diplomatically.

“I will call for refreshments.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary, please don’t go to any trouble.”

“It is no ‘trouble,’” the Comtesse scoffed. “Talia!” There was no answer, and the woman sighed. “She is so slow, this girl. Come, let us chat while we wait.”

The group was quickly seated in a nearby sitting room, and after exchanging some further pleasantries, Hawke got to the point. “I thank you for your hospitality, Comtesse, but I need to speak to you about Emile.”

“Hospitality? This? Oh, it is a disgrace. If you had just sent a message to say you were coming! I haven’t seen Emile since he was taken to the Circle. He was just six. You can tell the Templars not to worry. I’m sure Emile will turn himself in soon. He’s a good boy.”

“We’re not here as representatives of the Templars.”

“Dulci!” Hawke turned, seeing the Comte entering the room. “What have you done? You should have told the boy to throw himself at the mercy of the Templars.”

“Templars have no mercy,” Hawke said a moment before Anders could.

“Guillaume, darling,” the Comtesse began.

“Don’t ‘darling’ me, Dulci! He’s been telling people he’s our son, that you gave him gold!”

“Guillaume, darling, we have guests,” Dulci said pointedly.

“Don’t stop on my account, this is fascinating,” Hawke replied. “And as I said, I’m not here for the Templars.”

Dulci forced a smile. “I didn’t mean to lie to you, Champion!”

“Yes, you did,” Hawke said flatly.

“I…I barely saw Emile, I didn’t think it was worth mentioning!” Hawke gave her a pointed glare. “I gave him some money. Not too much. He said he wanted to start a new life.”

“New life?” Guillaume asked skeptically. “His ‘new life’ is spent in Lowtown taverns, getting drunk on cheap wine. It’s a wonder the Templars haven’t found him yet.”

“It’s a wonder the Templars can find their rears with both hands and a map,” Hawke replied.

“Help us, please, Champion,” Guillaume said. “Emile is not a blood mage, just a foolish boy. Don’t let the Templars kill him.”

“Blood mage?” Dulci echoed. “Oh, Guillaume, don’t say that!”

“Please, save my son’s life,” Guillaume said.

“I don’t think he’s in any danger at the moment,” Hawke replied. “If I can help Emile in any way, I will. Do you have any idea where he is?”

“An acquaintance spied Emile in the Hanged Man not long ago. He should still be there.”

“The Hanged Man?” Dulci put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, but that place is filthy!” She burst into tears.

“Come, Dulci,” Guillaume said. “Perhaps you should lie down.” He walked her from the room, the woman wailing all the way.

“Oh, but the Hanged Man is _so_ filthy!” Varric said, mimicking Dulci’s accent and snickering.

“It _is_ filthy,” Aveline pointed out.

“They are _so_ Orlesian,” Isabela said.

—ROTC—

Finding Emile at the Hanged Man was easy enough as the sun began to set. The man was facedown on a table, an empty cup tipped over on the table next to him. The man appeared to be bald only on the very top of his head, leaving a shiny patch in the middle of his red hair. “Emile de Launcet?”

Emile sat up with a start, looking around blearily. “Wow, are you…are you a mage? Because you just magicked my breath away.”

“As a matter of fact, I am a mage,” Hawke said.

“So am I,” Emile replied. “Some people say I’m a blood mage. I’m dangerous. I bet you like danger, don’t you? My name – de Launcet – comes from a part of Orlais famed for its stout lances. You want to see mine?”

Hawke blinked a few times. “I…is…” She turned to Isabela, bewildered. “Is this flirting? Is he flirting with me? Is that what’s happening?”

“This is what lack of sex does to a person,” Isabela explained. “I can only watch in horror.”

“The comte was right,” Varric said. “How did the Templars miss him?”

“This man-child has evaded the Templars? Crime of the century,” Aveline commented.

“The fool doesn’t understand how to lay low,” Fenris agreed.

“He’s lived in the Circle all his life,” Anders said. “He can’t function in the real world.”

“A round of drinks on me?” Emile suggested, either not hearing the byplay or not caring. “I’m Emile, as you know. And you are?”

“Dana Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall,” Hawke said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Emile’s eyes widened. “Oh, buggery! I know what this is about. I…I’m not a blood mage, all right? I, uh, started that rumor because…because I thought it would make me sound dangerous and…suave.”

Anders tilted his head in confusion. “Do you have a death wish? You grew up in the Circle. You know what Templars do to blood mages!”

“I’ve only told people in the tavern,” Emile said defensively. “And only women!”

“And you really think word of that wouldn’t spread?” Aveline asked incredulously.

“You don’t understand,” Emile said. “I’ve been in the Circle since I was six. Six! For twenty years I was locked up. Never had a real drink, or…or cooked something for myself. Never stood in the rain, or kissed a girl…”

“The Ferelden Circle’s more fun, I guess,” Anders commented. “Everyone was kissing everyone. Though that was before the abominations.”

“I just wanted to live a little,” Emile moaned. “If you’re going to kill me, do it. I’d rather die drunk.”

Hawke had been staring at the man, trying to reason out how such a fool had managed to escape the Circle. “Did you really escape the Circle so you could kiss a girl?”

“Well, not _just_ that,” Emile admitted. “I’ve read so much about the other things you can do with girls.”

“Aww, he’s like you were,” Isabela said to Aveline. “Do you remember, Aveline? When you were stupid over Donnic?”

“Yes, I remember,” Aveline sighed. “Thank you.”

“I just don’t want to die a virgin,” Emile admitted.

“Normally, I would suggest making a break for it, but I honestly don’t think you’d make it outside the Circle,” Hawke said. “They crippled you. The Templars _will_ find you eventually.”

“I…I’ll make you a deal, all right?” Emile replied. “Give me one night. Just one night. One of the tavern girls, Nella, agreed to lie with me. I even paid for a room. Please, let me have this. You can take me back in chains after.”

“Maker, he’s not dangerous, just stupid,” Hawke realized. “I…” she shook her head. “Aveline, Isabela, can I get you to stay here and make sure he doesn’t leg it? Take him to the estate when he’s…finished.”

“You’ll let me stay?” Emile asked.

“Doesn’t feel right denying someone like you the chance,” Hawke admitted.

“You’re really going to leave me here?” Aveline asked.

“You’re off-duty,” Hawke replied. “Have a drink. Live a little. Get Isabela to teach you to do body shots.”

—ROTC—

Merrill was sitting outside her house, watching Nyssa carefully as night fell. The dressmaker was closing down her shop and turned to leave, before starting in surprise. “Huon,” she whispered. Merrill looked to Hawke, who was coming down the stairs to the alienage at the moment.

Huon spread his arms, and a flicker of magic spread through the alienage. “Was that…” Hawke began as she rejoined Merrill.

Merrill nodded. “He’s using blood magic.”

“Damn it,” Hawke spat. “I had hoped we could work with him, but if he’s controlling her…”

Nyssa was slowly walking towards Huon, her eyes glazed, and she whimpered as he embraced her. “Hush, love,” Huon said. “Don’t be afraid.”

“We have to get her away from him,” Hawke said.

“Your blood will bring new life to our people,” Huon said. Nyssa jerked as Hawke and her companions closed in, and she collapsed, a ragged knife wound in her gut. “She was so beautiful.”

“She was _your wife!_” Hawke cried. “Why?”

“Her sacrifice will lead me to my destiny,” Huon said. “The humans keep us down because they’re afraid of the magic within us.” He coughed as a bolt sank into his temple, and Varric emerged from the shadows, reloading Bianca and putting another bolt into Huon’s face.

“Anders, can you save her?” Hawke asked, crouching over Nyssa.

“I can try.” Hawke and Merrill held Nyssa’s hands as Anders worked, the injured elf whimpering in pain as her blood stained the ground.

“Come on, Nyssa, just hold on,” Merrill urged. “You’re going to be all right.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner,” Hawke said. “If I had been here earlier, I might have been able to stop Huon from hurting you.”

“It’s all right,” Nyssa said softly. “Is Huon…”

Hawke glanced at the corpse. “He won’t hurt anyone anymore.”

Nyssa shivered. “I can’t believe he…”

Merrill brushed Nyssa’s hair away from her face. “It’s all right, _lethallan_. You’re safe now.”

“She’s going to make it,” Anders pronounced. “The knife nicked an artery. She’s lost a lot of blood. She’ll be weak for a while, but she’s going to live.”

Hawke grinned. “You hear that, Nyssa? You’re going to be just fine.”

“Come on, let’s get her off the ground,” Anders said, closing the wound. “She’ll be more comfortable in her own house.”

Hawke scooped her off the ground, carrying her to the house Nyssa indicated as hers. “I don’t usually carry other people’s wives across the threshold, but I’m willing to make an exception,” she quipped.

“Rest where you can, get a few solid meals, and drink plenty of water,” Anders said as Hawke set Nyssa down in a chair. “If you’d like, I could come by and check on you in a few days. If something happens before then, let Merrill know, she knows where to find me.”

Nyssa’s eyes widened. “Wait. You’re the Darktown healer, aren’t you?”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said unconvincingly. “There’s no healer in Darktown. The Templars wouldn’t allow a mage to go free like that.”

“I never said the healer was a mage,” Nyssa replied.

“You have _got_ to get better at lying,” Hawke said, passing Nyssa a clean smock. “Here. Get cleaned up.”

—ROTC—

Hawke found Emile at the estate, the man waiting nervously in the foyer. “Well?”

“I’m not going to tell you about it!” Emile said. “Why did you have me brought here?”

Hawke sighed. “Because it’s supposed to rain tomorrow.”

“I…” Emile looked baffled. “So?”

“You’ve kissed a girl, and I hope you did more than just that. So tonight, you’re going to sleep in a real bed, cook a meal for yourself, and have a real drink,” Hawke explained. “And then tomorrow, you’re going to stand in the rain, before I take you back. If you’re going to be going back to the Circle, you might as well live while you’re out.”

Emile’s face brightened. “Thank you, Champion.”

The next morning, Emile was smiling broadly as the rain soaked him to the skin, and he and Hawke met Anders, Varric, and Aveline at the docks. “That was utterly worth it. Back to the Templars.”

Hawke handed Emile off to Thrask in the Gallows courtyard, before heading to Meredith’s office. “I’m led to believe that both Huon and Evelina are dead,” Meredith said. “Unfortunate, but necessary.”

“I brought Emile de Launcet back alive,” Hawke said.

“I would have had him executed immediately, but the boy’s father made an impassioned appeal on his behalf.” Hawke realized the subtext – Emile’s noble family could cause trouble for Meredith, so he was given leniency that would not have been extended to Huon or Evelina had they survived to return to the Circle. “What say you, Champion? Do you believe Emile to be dangerous?”

“Dangerous? No. Stupid?” Hawke sighed. “You’re not going to believe this, but he was telling women he was a blood mage to impress them.”

Meredith paused. “Excuse me?”

“I really can’t put that in a way that _doesn’t_ sound absurd,” Hawke admitted. “I didn’t see him use blood magic, and he claimed to be telling people that because it would make him seem ‘dangerous and suave.’”

“His father mentioned he was an idiot, but I assumed he was trying to play on my sympathies,” Meredith said. “Well, he will be watched closely, but he will keep his life.”

“The blame for everything these mages did can be laid at your feet,” Hawke said. “Look at the way you treat them. Is it any wonder they’re so desperate?”

“I have heard this argument often,” Meredith said tiredly.

“And it’s not worth considering?” Aveline asked.

“_Maybe_ they are not corrupt. _Maybe_ they deserve leniency. _Maybe_ they can be saved. There are maybe enough to fill half the graves in Kirkwall. I will not add more to the pile.”

“So the Templars are absolved of all responsibility?” Anders demanded.

Meredith’s already-cold demeanor managed to chill further. “Be _very_ careful, mage,” she said. “Your friendship with the Champion protects you only so much.”

“He happens to be right,” Hawke replied. “Those ‘maybes’ you dismiss so casually come at the cost of flesh and blood. Mages are innocent people too.”

“Enough,” Meredith snapped. “I have not the patience to argue with you further.”

Not for the first time, Hawke debated the merits of simply killing her. “Very well.” She turned on her heel and left, her companions in tow.

“Champion,” Orsino said softly as she passed his office. “A moment, if you would.”

Hawke glanced at Meredith’s closed door and entered Orsino’s office, shutting the door behind her. “Of course, First Enchanter.”

“Few will associate with me now that I am the focus of Meredith’s ire. Which leaves me in a difficult position. She is not entirely wrong. I know some of my people are using dangerous means to oppose her, but I cannot seek the Templars’ aid without making every mage a target.”

“Dangerous means,” Hawke echoed, sparing a wary glance at the door. “Explain, if you would.”

“All I know is numerous mages have left the Circle at night, sometimes for days at a time. I’d rather not follow the Knight-Commander by leaping to the worst possible conclusion, but the idea of blood magic has crossed my mind. I don’t know if they seek congress with demons, or merely a walk in the moonlight. All I know is that a meeting is happening tonight in Hightown. I would go myself, but should I leave the tower without permission, Meredith would call it proof of my involvement.”

Hawke grimaced. “I’ll see what they’re up to. There’s no point in involving the Templars.”

“Just learn the nature of this meeting,” Orsino said. “You needn’t interrupt unless you find proof of something sinister. I pray not, or Meredith shall have what she needs to invoke the Right of Annulment.”

—ROTC—

Finding the location of the meeting in Hightown was difficult, but Hawke was shocked to find Templars already there, conversing with the mages. “Someone’s coming,” one of the mages hissed. “The Champion!”

“I’m not here to report anyone,” Hawke began.

“We know you’re spying for Orsino!” One of the Templars shouted.

“Run!” One of the enchanters said to the others. “We’ll handle this.”

“Oh, _not_ happening,” Hawke said, rewriting the laws of nature and yanking everyone in the square off their feet and into a pile. She held her staff out, maintaining downward pressure on the pile. “Now listen! I’m not here to hurt anyone! I’m _against_ Meredith!” She glanced at her companions. “We’re going to walk away. We’re not going to remember anyone who was here. You do what you have to do to take down Meredith.”

The Templar who had accused them of spying for Orsino struggled to his feet, but he didn’t draw his weapon. “Champion, if you are truly with us…”

“Walther, don’t,” the enchanter warned.

“We need allies,” Walther replied. “Come to Gardibali’s Warehouse, by the docks.”

—ROTC—

The warehouse had more mages and Templars in it, and the shocks continued when Hawke realized one of the Templars waiting for them. “Keran?”

Keran’s eyes widened. “No. Not you.” He glanced at one of the mages. “I can’t do this.”

“Wait!” Hawke raised her arms. “I’m not here to hurt anyone!” Everyone drew their weapons, but Hawke kept her arms raised. “Please, just let me speak!”

“We have to fight them,” one of the Templars argued, but Keran stepped between them, facing his comrades.

“It’s all right,” he pleaded. “Let her talk. She saved my life!”

“Thank you, Keran,” Hawke said. “I’m not here to kill any of you, or take you in, or anything. But Orsino at least is on to you. Which means Meredith may not be far behind. If he can figure it out, she can too.”

“Shit,” one of the Templars breathed. “What do we do?”

“If I knew you were the one they were talking about, I’d have warned you,” Keran said. “I don’t hold with kidnapping. Not after what I went through.”

“Kidnapping?” Hawke asked. “Kidnapping _who_?”

“They said someone was spying, we needed leverage, someone they cared about,” Keran explained. “As a hostage.” He paused. “And if I had known it was one of yours…”

“Keran…” one of the others warned.

“We just got word they took some lad from the Grey Wardens.”

There was a pause as Hawke processed that. “_You bastards kidnapped my brother?_” Hawke exploded.

“We weren’t going to hurt him!” Keran insisted as lightning crackled around Hawke’s fists. “Just make sure you left us alone. Do you understand? Thrask says Meredith will cause open war with the mages if she stays in charge. We have to take her down.”

“This whole thing is to oust the knight-commander?” Hawke asked.

“She needs to go,” Keran said. “Can’t you see? We need a real viscount, and Templars who will protect mages, not massacre them. Just look at what Thrask accomplished! Mages and Templars, working together! Isn’t that what we all want?”

“Thrask is the one running this conspiracy?” Hawke asked.

“He’s the one who brought us together. For six years, he’s been working. One mage, one Templar at a time. Teaching us we don’t have to hate each other.”

“He’s a good man, for a Templar,” Hawke said.

“You should work with us, not fight us,” Keran pleaded. “All we want is someone sane in Meredith’s place. What are you going to do Thrask? To us?”

“I happen to agree with everything you’ve said so far,” Hawke said. “If you had just _asked_…”

“If I’d known you were the one that they were trying to keep out of this…” Keran began.

“Where’s my brother?” Hawke asked.

“They’re on the Wounded Coast,” Keran explained. “The ruins there.”

“I’m going there. If they listen, there won’t be a problem.”

“And if they don’t listen?” Keran asked nervously.

“Then someone will need to bring a mop.”

—ROTC—

Hawke was leading the way down the path on the Wounded Coast when they encountered their first sign of resistance since leaving the warehouse. “Well, here you are,” a raspy voice called. A man in leathers emerged, and Hawke’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been sticking your nose in every problem in Kirkwall since you stumbled off the boat.”

Hawke tilted her head. “Samson, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I’m the one who fouled up your lad Feynriel’s escape, some years ago.”

“You were a Templar, weren’t you?”

“That was before your time, but yes.”

“Are you part of this plot against Meredith?” Hawke asked.

“You could say so,” Samson said. “That bitch threw me out of the Templars for carrying letters from a mageling to his sweetheart. She’s got her sword so far up her ass, she can cut you with her tongue.”

“She’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic, yes,” Hawke agreed. “But if you’re part of it, why are you out here?”

“Is she wrong?” Samson asked. “I’d hoped with Meredith gone, I could take up the shield again. But maybe she was right – give them a hint of freedom, mages go bad.”

“Your friends are right,” Hawke said. “Without Meredith, Kirkwall can be at peace again.”

“I’d cheer to see her shipped to Val Royeaux. But I don’t have the stomach to turn against all that’s right and natural to do it. I’m leaving. You do what you have to do.” He left without another word.

They encountered some risen undead partway down the path, and after tearing them apart, they moved into the ruins. “I suppose it was too much to hope for that you wouldn’t have come here,” Thrask called. He stepped into the clearing, flanked by Grace and Alain. A prone figure in Warden plate was laying on the ground, and Hawke recognized Carver’s shock of black hair. “Though I can’t understand why you side with Meredith now. You showed me we could stand up to her. When I realized you had risked your life lying to protect those mages…” He shook his head. “Please, Champion. I have nothing but respect for you. It’s Meredith we must see gone.”

“I’m not here about Meredith,” Hawke said. “I’d throw her out a window myself given the chance. I’m here for my brother.”

Thrask had the decency to look embarrassed. “I should have known you recognize the threat Meredith posed. I am sorry for any distress we caused you or your friends.” He turned to Grace. “Let the hostage go.”

“No!” Grace spat. “The boy dies. Then, the Champion.” She drew a dagger, moving toward Carver, but Thrask got in her way.

“Stand down, Grace!”

“Grace, do you really want to do this?” Merrill asked. “After everything we’ve done for you?”

“We will not kill an innocent to achieve our ends,” Thrask said. “It gains us nothing to become Meredith.”

“Meredith,” Grace said scornfully. “What do I care for Meredith? I’m here for the Champion.”

“I did what I could for you, Grace,” Hawke replied.

“Decimus was right,” Grace said. “There is no way for a mage to live by the Chantry’s laws. You killed the best men I ever met. But I learned everything he had to teach. Alain, kill the hostage!”

Alain stammered. “Grace, we shouldn’t…”

“Alain, I thought you turned your back on blood magic when you saw what happened to Decimus,” Hawke said.

“This isn’t right,” Alain said. “The Champion tried to help us.”

Grace backhanded him, knocking him to the ground. “Don’t defy me, boy. Without me, you’d be nothing! If you’re too squeamish, I’ll do it myself!”

Thrask caught her by the arm. “No! No one has to die here!”

Grace laughed. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong!”

“All right, I’ve heard enough,” Hawke muttered, drawing her staff as Grace slashed her wrist. Grace’s head snapped to one side as Varric calmly shot her in the head. Everyone else froze as she collapsed, the sacrifice fizzling out.

“What was that about getting slow?” Varric asked, reloading and putting another arrow into Grace’s twitching corpse.

Thrask was staring openmouthed at the corpse. “She…she was going to kill me.”

“She was the one who raised the dead,” Alain said. “I didn’t know Thrask was working with her. When I saw her today, it brought everything back, everything I saw Decimus do.” He picked up Grace’s dropped dagger. “I’m sorry. Grace used blood magic to hold him. There’s no other way to wake him up.”

“Uh…” Hawke held up a hand. “I happen to have a blood mage on staff.”

Alain paused with the dagger raised. “You…you do?”

“It’s just magic, like any other,” Merrill said softly, drawing her own dagger and carefully opening a vein on the back of her hand before casting.

Carver immediately staggered to his feet, coughing. “Get away from…” he paused, looking around blearily. “What? Where am I?”

“How’d they get the drop on you?” Hawke chided. “A couple of lousy kidnappers and you’re down?”

“I had no reason to think they’d turn on me,” Carver said, glancing down and noticing the corpse on the ground. “Didn’t we rescue her?”

“Turns out that she wasn’t as grateful as we thought,” Hawke replied.

“Thrask, you and the others better get out of here, and fast,” Hawke said. “Samson probably was going to get the Templars. Circle around the higher paths. We’ll cover for you.”

It was only minutes after Thrask and the others left that Samson showed up with Cullen and several Templars in tow. “They’re meeting in here, Ser Cullen,” Samson said. “I…Oh. I guess you didn’t get along with the mages as well as you’d thought?”

“What are you talking about?” Hawke asked.

“Champion,” Cullen broke in. “Samson never said you were involved in this. I trust you were here to stop these traitors, not join them?”

“What traitors?” Hawke asked innocently. “There’s a dead blood mage here and a handful of reanimated dead freshly re-deaded…” She paused, looking at Varric. “Un-reanimated? Re-killed? Un-undeaded?” She shook her head. “Let’s go with re-deaded. This blood mage managed to kidnap my brother and was trying to extort me.”

“It’s true,” Carver said. “How exactly did she manage to escape the Circle and make her way to a Warden outpost without detection or pursuit, Knight-Captain?”

Cullen flushed. “It shall be investigated. In the meantime…”

“Well then, that’s all we can hope for right now,” Hawke said cheerily. “Good day, Cullen!” They made a hasty exit, leaving several befuddled Templars behind.

“I have never been prouder of you,” Varric said as they headed back towards the city. “Conning a Templar like that.”

“I had good teachers in scoundreling,” Hawke said. “Carver, how did they get you?”

“I was actually in Kirkwall,” Carver replied. “Coming to see you.”

“Just a friendly visit, or Warden business?”

“Both, actually,” Carver said. “I think you might be in danger. I was targeted. You might be as well.”

Hawke frowned. “Attacked by who?”

“Dwarves,” Carver explained. “Carta, I think. We don’t have a lot of information, but I got a pass and headed here as quickly as I could. We can talk about it tonight.”

Hawke smiled. “I appreciate your concern. You won’t believe who we ran into the other day…”

—ROTC—

“Your mage-Templar group was conspiring to overthrow Meredith,” Hawke said softly.

“I have a sudden deep regret I interfered,” Orsino sighed. “You know, I was half-convinced Meredith had engineered the whole thing, to trick me into incriminating myself.”

“The group is still active, but they have to be careful. An ex-Templar named Samson tried to expose the group after one of the mages began using blood magic. They had best be careful – if Meredith and Cullen don’t have them all killed on suspicion, they’ll be watched closely. I’m not sure how many names Samson could give, but…”

“But just a few would be enough,” Orsino finished. “Meredith would kill us all if she could. And she will, given time.”

“What happened to make her hate mages so much?” Hawke asked.

Orsino glanced at the door. “Her sister was a mage. An apostate, like yourself, never in the Circle. The official term is ‘hedge mage,’ but regardless, her family hid her away. When the Templars finally found out, she became an abomination and killed many innocents – including Meredith’s parents. To say that she has a grudge against mages as a result is an understatement.”

“If Meredith remains in power, she’ll run Kirkwall into the ground,” Hawke said.

“Speak softly, friend,” Orsino cautioned. “There is no place in Kirkwall where it is safe to say that. But rest assured, you are _far_ from the only one thinking it.”

Hawke was on her way out of the Gallows when Cullen pulled her aside. “Champion, I have a matter that requires your attention.”

“I’m listening.”

“You should be aware that I have received complaints about your frequent companion, Guard-Captain Aveline. She is accused of coddling her men and weakening law enforcement in this crucial time. In the absence of a viscount, I am called to vacate her position and assume her authority…”

“Oh, _that’s_ all we need,” Anders groaned.

“…but I would rather not have that headache,” Cullen finished, giving Anders an annoyed look. “Please, speak with her about these claims. As Champion, your word can decide this matter, and save the career of a good woman.”

As they entered the guard barracks, a Templar Hawke vaguely recognized was speaking with Aveline. “You have no viscount,” the Templar was saying loftily. “It’s clear you are suffering without…sufficient leadership.”

“That doesn’t grant default authority to you or your commander,” Aveline replied.

“It would be easier if you cooperated,” the Templar said.

Aveline crossed her arms. “Wouldn’t it.”

The Templar clearly realized he was getting nowhere, and nodded. “Guard-Captain.” Hawke ignored him as he left.

Aveline was prowling back and forth. “Trouble?” Hawke asked.

“He’s been hounding us,” Aveline growled. “These Templars strut around as it is, but now it’s just…out of hand.”

“Someone’s claiming you’re coddling your men,” Hawke said. “And they’re taking issue.”

“What in blazes are you talking about?”

“Anonymous complaints, directed to the Templars,” Hawke explained. “No names given, of course.”

“No wonder the lieutenant was harassing me,” Aveline said. “Bastards. If they think I’m coddling anyone, it’ll be my husband, Donnic. You and I will intercept his patrol tonight. Then you can see for yourself if I’m coddling him. Or any in my command.”

“Is this really necessary?” Hawke asked. “You and I both know you’re not coddling your men.”

“Someone has questioned my authority,” Aveline declared. “No way that goes unanswered.”

“I question your authority regularly.”

“The Templars want to know if these things are true? You’ll be able to tell him. Donnic’s patrol, Hawke. Me and you. Tonight.”

—ROTC—

When they caught up with Donnic’s patrol, they were engaging a pack of Coterie thugs, and holding their own. The guards had put their backs to a wall and were coordinating well, covering each other’s exposed points with their shields and exploiting openings in the Coterie’s uncoordinated attacks. Hawke, Isabela, Varric, Fenris, Merrill, and Aveline falling on the Coterie from behind was almost unnecessary, but they did anyway.

Donnic pulled off his helmet, tucking it under his arm. “Serah Hawke! Or is it always ‘Champion’ now? You’re too much of a chameleon, my friend.”

“You made short work of this lot,” Hawke replied. “Most of them were already on the ground when we got here.”

“You drop your shield a bit when you strike low,” Isabela warned. “You should watch that, Donnic.” The man nodded.

“Is this common?” Hawke asked.

“As common as I like,” Donnic said. “What’s going on?”

Hawke looked uncomfortably at Aveline. “It’s all right,” Aveline said. “Go ahead.”

“Every guard chooses the patrol they want,” Donnic replied. “My wife promotes from the bold, not the reckless. Action is up, casualties are down. It is…remarkable.” He smiled at Aveline. “As are you, love.”

“Thank you,” Aveline said. “That will do.”

Donnic nodded. “Another time, Serah Hawke. Safe travels.” He nodded to Fenris. “Tomorrow night?”

“Of course,” Fenris said.

Aveline gave him a quizzical look as Donnic’s patrol continued on their route. “Since when do you talk with my husband?”

Fenris looked panicked for a moment. “He...comes to the mansion once a week? We play diamondback.”

“What?” Aveline asked. “Why am I not invited to these games?”

“He says you get angry when you lose.”

“I do not!” Fenris gave Aveline a knowing look. “All right, perhaps I do. Still, that’s no reason not to tell me.”

“It is if he’s a betting man,” Varric said.

Fenris looked panicked again. “I disavow any knowledge of gambling occurring in my house.” Aveline snorted. “He’s a good man, Aveline. I enjoy his visits.”

“Fine, fine,” Aveline sighed. “Have your ‘man time,’ then. I owe you for that tip, anyway.”

“You caught them, then?”

“Yes, a whole nest of slave runners working out of the Undercity.”

“I imagine you imprisoned them?”

Aveline shrugged. “Sadly, they never made it to prison.”

Fenris gave a grim smile. “You always know how to make me smile, Aveline.”

Aveline glanced over. “You’ve been too quiet, Varric.”

“I’m thinking of switching to romances,” Varric replied. Aveline didn’t answer. “Nothing? Not even a foreboding frown?”

“I am content. Write what you will.”

Varric scowled. “Well that certainly takes the fun out of it. Contentment in the barracks? Who’ll pay to hear that shit?”

Aveline chuckled. “Then I should have thought of it years ago. Why are you still here, Varric?”

“Starkhaven’s too pretentious for me and Cumberland’s too boring,” Varric replied easily.

“You always say you hate commitment, but here you are, six years later, still at Hawke’s side.”

“Aveline, I thought you’d have noticed by now, I lie a lot.”

“Strange, I always thought I’d wind up arresting you some day.”

“If I ever decide to get caught, Aveline, you’ll be the guard I let catch me,” Varric promised.

“Let catch you?” Aveline echoed.

“Well, ‘decide to get caught,’ didn’t trip you up. Good to know!”

“Is it a lot of fun being a guard?” Merrill asked.

“I don’t think the city guard is right for you, Merrill.”

“I’ve read all about it in Varric’s guard serial!” Merrill said. “I could be your partner! We could fight crime together!”

“Guards don’t have partners. Not like he says, anyway.”

“That’s why you need me! Oh! We could get matching outfits!”

“All guards have matching outfits,” Aveline said tiredly.

“But ours would be the matching-est!”

Hawke paused to consider a scenario where Merrill worked as part of the city guard. After she shuddered in horror, she shook her head, resolving to never discuss it again.

“Aveline, you’ll look after Hawke, won’t you?” Merrill asked suddenly.

“The Champion of Kirkwall doesn’t need my protection.”

“And sometimes Isabela gets into awful trouble,” Merrill went on. “You’ll watch out for her, too?”

Aveline’s face softened. “Merrill...what brought this on?”

“Anything could happen,” Merrill said softly. “You’ll protect them, though. It’s what you do.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Merrill,” Aveline said soothingly.

Luckily, Varric saved her. “You should have come to the Hanged Man last week. You missed Brennan drunk off her ass, reciting love poems to Corff.”

Aveline’s jaw dropped. “She did not!”

“Four hours she spent clinging to the bar, shouting sonnets at the poor man.”

“Ugh, a guardsman’s poetry,” Aveline groaned. “That’s assault, that is.”

“Keep an eye on her. I think she’s in possession of a few concealed dirty limericks, too.”

It was a bleary-eyed and annoyed Hawke who entered the Gallows the next morning with Aveline in tow. “Cullen,” Hawke said.

“Champion. And you are with the captain. None too happy about the accusations against her, I’m sure.”

“There was no evidence to support the claims against her,” Hawke grumped.

“As I suspected,” Cullen muttered.

“Then why press this?” Aveline asked.

“Agreed,” Hawke said. “Why exactly did I bother with this?”

“Some feel that the solution to the current crisis of leadership is to…consolidate authority,” Cullen said.

“Meaning Meredith’s looking to take over completely,” Hawke replied.

“As long as these complaints continue, baseless or not, they will serve as justification for eliminating the post of guard captain. It would be the simplest fix, whether or not I agree.”

“Aveline and I have our differences, but she doesn’t coddle her guards,” Hawke said. “She has the right to face her accusers.”

“The complaints were anonymous,” Cullen replied. “But they originate in Lowtown.”

“Guardsman Brennan is leading that patrol,” Aveline said. “Why wouldn’t she tell me of this?”

“I don’t know,” Cullen admitted. “But…I do apologize for the assumptions of this incident, Guard-Captain. It has been…unfortunate.”

“It’s not done,” Aveline said. “To Lowtown, Hawke. I need to speak to Brennan.”

—ROTC—

Brennan finishing up a patrol through Lowtown when Hawke’s group caught up to her. “Guardsman!” Brennan turned to find a furious Aveline bearing down on her. “Why did a _Templar_ have to tell me there is unrest in this district? What’s going on?”

Brennan looked pained. “Guardsman?” Hawke asked.

Brennan closed her eyes. “It’s Captain Jeven. I didn’t report his return because…I’m ashamed for him. He’s trying to rile the guards against you, but none of us will follow him. You lead better than he ever did.”

“Jeven?” Hawke said incredulously. “We’ve made so many enemies, I don’t remember him as being that impressive.”

“He deserves to be forgotten,” Aveline replied. “He abused his position and blamed me when we caught him.”

“He was well-liked by some, but not once the truth was known,” Brennan said.

“Well, I suppose we need to find him,” Hawke said. “Guardsman?”

“The guards will have nothing to do with him, so he found others,” Brennan explained. “Militia, mostly anti-Fereldan. The same kind who were against the Qunari. I guess it’s been long enough that they’ve forgotten how many the Champion killed.” She handed over a leaflet.

Aveline skimmed the leaflet. “A rally. Against ‘the tyranny of the guard, and foreigners who infest Kirkwall.’”

“I’m sorry, Captain.”

Aveline grimaced. “Return to the barracks.”

“Where’s this rally?” Hawke asked.

“Darktown. I need to be there.”

“_We_ need to be there,” Hawke replied. “I want a crack at Jeven myself.”

Tracking down to Darktown took a little time, and Hawke’s arrival caused some panic among the people. The first two who spotted Hawke were less than reserved. “The Champion? Here?”

“It’s the Captain,” another said. “Are we ready for this?”

Jeven didn’t notice them at first. Dressed in scarred leathers, he was addressing the crowd. “Too long, brave Kirkwall! You did not throw off all others only to fall under Fereldan influence! Leaderless, displaced! Alien hands on the most basic authority. Foreign elite bleeding you!”

“Jeven!” Aveline shouted, pushing through the crowd. “You disgrace yourself.”

“The Fereldan with the Orlesian name!” Jeven sneered. “Is there anyone else who embodies how far this city has fallen?”

“You take care of him,” Hawke said. “I just washed my hands.”

“Do they know how you sacrificed your men?” Aveline demanded. “How you alone disgraced your name?”

“Bitch! You took everything from me!”

“You took it from yourself! The guard know this, and none stand with you!” She turned to the crowd. “He stands alone! This is no rebellion. It is delusion! A joke inflicted on Kirkwall! Your home, and mine!”

“I will not be left with nothing again,” Jeven snarled as the crowd began to disperse. Only a few remained, nervously exchanging glances.

“Dead or alive,” Aveline said grimly, “you are coming with me.”

Jeven drew his daggers in response, and Hawke rounded on the few fighters that remained. “Don’t do it! Just walk away!”

“Fereldan _bitch_!” One spat, drawing a mace.

Hawke shrugged. “Have it your way.” She hit him with a lightning bolt, killing him instantly. Two more took that as their cue to leave, and Hawke let them flee.

By the point Hawke and the others finished off the few that were brave or stupid enough to stick around and fight, Jeven was lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood, gasping his last breaths. “You fool,” Aveline said softly. “Why would you do this?” She turned to Hawke. “If I live to a hundred, I will never understand his kind.” She wiped blood from her sword, sheathing it. “To the barracks, then. My guardsmen will be waiting.”

Aveline had been quiet on the way back to the barracks, but once in her office she shook her head. “Jeven. Son of a bitch. You build a good thing, work your hardest, and the past just claws at you.”

“At least you know your guards are loyal,” Hawke pointed out. “He couldn’t do anything to you. He had to complain to the Templars to cause trouble.”

“I built a name for them,” Aveline replied. “But this kind of thing harms them all. I wonder what I would do if my captain lost my respect.”

“You don’t have to wonder,” Hawke said. “You just killed him, remember?”

“Captain?” Donnic said from the door. “We’re waiting for orders.”

“Will you accept them?” Aveline asked.

Donnic tilted his head. “May I speak freely?” Aveline nodded. “There isn’t a man or woman here who wouldn’t follow you through the Void.”

Aveline smiled warmly. “I’ll take it.”

“Good enough,” Hawke said. “Now maybe the Templars will get off my ass for a few minutes.”

“I hear that,” Aveline replied. “I have enough trouble without them adding to it. Did you know I’ve been dead for seven years?” At Hawke’s questioning look, she held up a letter. “I just got word last week. They only just sorted the casualties of Ostagar. The king has offered to reinstate the commission of any surviving officers who will return to Ferelden.”

There was a long pause. “And?” Hawke prodded.

“And what?”

“I mean, you served Cailan.”

“King Alistair has apparently become something of a sensation,” Aveline said. “A champion of hope. Regardless, I served _Ferelden_, and the country survives, even if Cailan didn’t.”

“It’s been a long road to get here,” Hawke said. “Would you walk away to rejoin the Fereldan army?”

Aveline leaned against her desk. “It’s…” She shook her head. “Did Carver ever tell you about that last night at Ostagar? How it happened?”

“I asked him a couple times,” Hawke said. “He hated to talk about it. I…tried to respect that.”

“I don’t mean the betrayal,” Aveline replied. “Everyone knows the signal went up and the flanking charge never came. But that moment when the tower lit and then…the fight just kept going. It was the oddest feeling. Hope answered with…nothing. I don’t like the thought of going out with a whimper, Hawke. You were there for me with Donnic, but what else is here for me? More doubt from you.”

Hawke worked her jaw, before turning to her companions. “Can you give us a minute?” She waited until the others filed out, before turning back to Aveline, her full ‘I Kill Dragons For Fun’ glare fully in place. “Do you want my permission? If you’ve already given up, take responsibility.”

“Who are you to talk about responsibility?” Aveline asked. “You’re a highwayman. You stumbled into being Champion.”

“Really,” Hawke said. “Because I distinctly remember having to fight the Qunari after you broke things. And having to clean up your mess – repeatedly. I’ve sweat and bled for this city, and every day I’m out there making sure things don’t fall apart completely without getting paid for it. You were made Guard-Captain, and you’re going to just give it up?”

“I will not be judged a coward by anyone!”

“I’m not calling you a coward,” Hawke said. “I’m calling you incompetent. If you’re going to walk away, walk away. I’ve known for years I couldn’t count on you. The question is, are you going to let the guards down like you did me? You just going to quit and give up?” She stumbled back as Aveline slugged her.

“_Fuck you, Hawke_,” Aveline spat. “I would give anything for my guards.”

“That’s not someone who wants to walk away,” Hawke said, rubbing her jaw.

“I…” Aveline paused, her fist still raised. “You…” She glared at her. “You bitch.”

“Sometimes you have to take a hit to get through to someone,” Hawke replied. “You’re a solid bitch, but you’re not going to walk away. Period.”

“You always have to push things to the edge, don’t you,” Aveline said.

“Not always,” Hawke admitted. “Just with you. Anyway, I’m going to go meet the King of Ferelden. He sent me a letter asking me to meet him in the Keep. Want to come along?”

Aveline was still glaring at Hawke, but fell in behind her as Hawke left the office, heading to the throne room. Meredith was there, having a frank discussion with a man in armor. A nobleman in Fereldan-cut finery stood beside the armored man. “Let me guess, that’s your final answer?”

“Three mages have fled to Ferelden, and you have intervened to protect them as if it is your right to do so,” Meredith replied coolly. “What other answer did you expect, your Majesty?” Hawke suddenly recognized the speaker – King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden, who had sent her the letter summoning her there.

“A ‘maybe’ might have been nice,” he drawled.

“I do not deal in ‘maybes,’” Meredith sneered. “I deal in cold, hard facts, as should you. Perhaps when Ferelden next chooses a king, it will be one that takes his duty to the Maker seriously.” She turned to leave.

“You and I have very different ideas of what one’s duty to the Maker is,” Alistair replied, and Meredith paused. “But if we’re talking about ‘cold, hard facts,’ the fact is that when they entered Ferelden, those three mages became the responsibility of the Fereldan Circle, where they have been properly registered. The request for the transfer of their phylacteries has gone unanswered, and I can only assume you are ignoring it in an attempt to prove that you control their fates, not us and especially not the mages themselves. The fact that escaped mages are fleeing as far as Ferelden speaks more about your attitude towards them than ours, and deliberately turning a blind eye to the refugees and destitute in this city speaks _volumes_ about what you view as your ‘duty to the Maker,’ when you care more about crushing the mages already under your control than you do helping the people the Chantry ought to be looking after.” Alistair gave her a cold smile. “But what do I know? I was only trained by the Chantry, accepted into the Grey Wardens, and fought tooth and nail against the Blight for the people your organization claims to represent, while you were here, oppressing innocents. How’s that for a ‘cold, hard fact?’”

“I knew there was a reason I liked him,” Anders muttered as Meredith left without answering.

“Well, that was awkward,” Alistair replied. “As a warrior who knows exactly what it feels like to be stabbed, I feel obligated to inform you that every moment I had to be polite felt like I was being impaled.”

“Don’t mind her,” Hawke said. “She doesn’t seem as bad as she really is. That’s her idea of Kirkwall hospitality.”

“Really?” Alistair asked. “Kirkwall brutality must rip the skin off your face, then.”

“This is the Champion of Kirkwall,” the man accompanying Alistair said.

“Right!” He stepped forward, extending a hand, and Hawke shook it, taken in by the man’s friendly attitude. “I’m Alistair, uh…king of Ferelden. And this is Teagan, my uncle. Sort of.”

“I’m actually Teagan,” the nobleman replied. “I’m only sort of his uncle.”

“Arl Teagan, from Redcliffe?” Hawke asked. Teagan nodded. “A pleasure, serah.”

Aveline dropped to one knee. “Your Majesty. May I say what an honor it is to meet you?”

“You could, but you’d be the first today,” Alistair said dryly.

“I fought at Ostagar,” Aveline explained. “What happened there was…a great tragedy.”

“Ah. Yes, it was. Thankfully the man responsible has paid for that,” Alistair replied.

“My brother was there, too,” Hawke said. “He’s since become a Grey Warden. He couldn’t be here today.”

“Oh, really?” Alistair smiled. “Good to hear they’re still getting recruits.”

“Say, weren’t you a Grey Warden?” Anders chimed in.

“That’s the rumor,” Alistair replied, before looking at Anders. “Wait, weren’t you…”

“That’s the rumor,” Anders said slyly.

“Huh. I guess we get around.”

“So, you’re a king now,” Isabela said. “Moving up in the world.”

“Do I know you?” Alistair asked.

“Captain Isabela,” she purred. “We’ve never officially met, but we have a mutual acquaintance or two. Daylen Amell, and Zevran Arainai.”

Alistair’s eyes narrowed for a moment, before he leaned back. “Ah. You’re the one who taught him to duel.”

“Is that what he told you?” Isabela asked. “Well, I taught him a few things.”

“You bedded the Hero of Ferelden?” Hawke asked. “Oh yeah, you mentioned that. You know, I think I might be related to him.”

“Really? Well then. We’re keeping it in the family, I suppose.”

Alistair had been looking back and forth between the two. “You’re related to Daylen Amell?”

“On my mothers’ side,” Hawke explained. “For that matter, I may have actually _met _him. Before Ostagar. Tall, gangly, beardy fellow, isn’t he? Carries a big stick?”

Alistair snorted out a laugh. “He hasn’t been gangly for a while, but that’s him.”

“So, what can I do for the king of Ferelden?”

“I was hoping we could talk,” Alistair remarked. “Would’ve been better timing _before_ being emasculated by Meredith, but I’m not picky.”

“I’m surprised you would even know who I am.”

“I know you came from Lothering,” Alistair said. “A Fereldan refugee that did well for herself, against all odds. I have to admit, I was hoping your influence in Kirkwall might be of use. Things haven’t been going well with Orlais, and without a viscount here, we only have the knight-commander to deal with.”

“The Templars have had more influence than they should in Kirkwall for years,” Hawke said. “And they’ve been openly ruling the city since the death of Viscount Dumar. You were having an argument about mages?”

“Yes, well, apparently I don’t feel the same way about mages as the Chantry does,” Alistair replied. “Believing they’re people and all that. So we’re in disagreement. That means they get nasty. They’re like that.”

“Sounds like the Circle is better off in Ferelden.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? Sadly, I don’t control the Circle, I can only deal with mages outside the Circle, of which there aren’t many. And Ferelden had a Blight to contend with, so we’re not exactly at our strongest.”

“A great many of your people fled to Kirkwall, you know.”

“I know,” Alistair said with a sigh. “I wish I could have helped them. The Blight devastated the kingdom and afterwards…well, it hasn’t exactly been peaceful. They’re welcome back, of course, as are you. But after so many years away, would you still consider it home?”

“Ferelden will always be my home,” Hawke declared.

“Then I hope we see you back there someday,” Alistair replied. “We could use someone like you, Champion.”

Hawke glanced at Teagan’s guarded look for a moment. “Is there to be a war, then?”

“I hope not.”

“You’re more optimistic than I am,” Teagan said.

“Empress Celene is doing her best,” Alistair insisted. “Orlais isn’t the most stable place right now.”

“We don’t get much news about Orlais here,” Hawke interjected. “What’s happening in Orlais?”

“Oh, the usual. Attempted assassinations, uprisings, fancy parties with stinky cheeses. Apparently some Orlesians think it would be grand to get their lost province back.”

“And what influence do you think I would have on the situation?” Hawke asked.

“Sadly, it may be too late,” Alistair admitted. “Meredith got wind of my arrival sooner than I’d hoped. What you can do is protect Kirkwall. It will take someone like you to prevent it from falling apart.”

“I’m probably going to regret asking this, but protect Kirkwall from what, exactly?”

“You ask me, the biggest threat to this city just walked out the door,” Alistair replied. “But maybe that’s the ex-Templar in me talking.” He looked to Teagan. “Well, I suppose we should be getting back.”

“We should. The Hero of Ferelden should be back in Denerim by now,” Teagan agreed.

“You’re always so formal,” Alistair teased. “He has a name, you know.” He looked back to Hawke. “Champion, a pleasure.”

“Any time, Your Majesty,” Hawke replied. “Say hello to my cousin for me.”

—ROTC—

_King Alistair Theirin  
"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."_

_King Alistair Theirin was crowned the ruler of Ferelden after the end of the Fifth Blight, and is considered a hero among his people for having fought against the darkspawn as a Grey Warden. Alistair was a novice Templar when Duncan recruited him into the Grey Wardens--or rescued him, as Alistair would say._

_His mother was a serving girl, who died when Alistair was very young. He was raised by Eamon Guerrin, arl of Redcliffe, for a time. The arl's wife, Isolde, suspected the reason her husband took an interest in the welfare of a servant's child was that Alistair was Eamon's son. She insisted that the boy be sent away to the Chantry. Isolde's suspicions were unfounded, however. Alistair was not Eamon's son, but King Maric's, and not a servant's child, but that of a Grey Warden._

_With a great deal of assistance, Alistair was recognized by the Landsmeet as Maric's son and granted his father's throne. He is one of the few known to have ever left the secretive order, never mind one who went on to rule a nation afterwards. Some in Ferelden claim that the Theirin line ended with the death of King Cailan and that the existence of an unknown bastard was a lie imposed upon the people to overthrow Queen Anora. He found love in a fellow veteran of the Fifth Blight and married the daughter of the revered Cousland family, cementing his authority. Although Ferelden has prospered under their reign, it was greatly weakened by the Blight. Tensions with neighboring Orlais have been high, and many believe a renewal of their long-standing conflict is inevitable._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	24. Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a right turn to crazytown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.
> 
> We're almost at the end here, but I've been dealing with some stuff that's kept me from writing, so the next chapter might take a bit longer. In the meantime, enjoy.

_First Enchanter Orsino  
“You deny us our freedom so that you may sleep better at night, but I say it is a restless and undeserved slumber.”_

_First Enchanter Orsino is an elf from the Free Marches city of Ansburg who was brought to the Gallows when he was very young. Some claim he became the youngest first enchanter to hold the position in Kirkwall not by his own merit, but because nobody else wanted it. He would call that cynicism—someone must advocate for the mages, after all. Even if the job is thankless, the alternative would be for Kirkwall’s mages to have no advocate whatsoever. For the past five years, Orsino has had constant—sometimes very public—disputes with Knight-Commander Meredith. The common belief amongst the populace is that he is a troublemaker... possibly a dangerous one._

—ROTC—

“I have a report you mind find interesting,” Cassandra interrupted. “It tells of a chasm in the Vimmark Mountains, and a secret that was said to be buried within. Yet when the Chantry went to investigate, they were turned away by the Grey Wardens.”

“The Wardens would have the right,” Varric remarked. “But why would I find that interesting?”

“Because the Champion was there,” Cassandra said. “I can’t help but notice you’ve failed to mention this…adventure.”

“I was getting to it,” Varric replied. “I didn’t think you’d be interested.” _But the longer I keep talking, the farther Hawke and the others can get from Kirkwall_. “Just some business with Hawke’s family, a few Carta dwarves that went too far…” He sighed as Cassandra glared at him. “You’re not going to believe me.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

—ROTC—

The night she rescued him from the resistance group and tracked down Donnic’s patrol with Aveline, Hawke sat down opposite Carver, a bottle of whiskey and two glasses on the table. “All right. Sorry that took so long. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Carver was in breeches and a tunic, his Warden-issue plate oiled and set aside on a rack. He watched as Hawke poured a glass for each of them. “A week ago, I was on a patrol with four other Wardens, heading for a Deep Roads entrance. We keep the tunnels as clear as we can, map out the side passages and hunt for darkspawn. We were scouting towards the Vimmarks, there had been scavenger reports about a lost fortress out that way. Then we came under attack.”

“Dwarves, you mentioned,” Hawke said, sipping at her drink.

Carver nodded. “We had expected darkspawn. We can sense them coming, you know. These were dwarves. Tainted, but not darkspawn.” He rubbed at his forehead. “They were shouting about ‘the blood of the Hawke.’ We didn’t quite manage to take any of them alive. The last one threw himself at me and was trying to use his teeth.”

“His _teeth_?”

Carver gave her a grim smile. “He’d been relieved of his hands a moment before, you see.”

Hawke winced. “Go on.”

“With the new development, our lieutenant decided to turn around and head back to the outpost. I got debriefed, then got a pass and headed out here as quickly as I could.” He threw back the drink. “The Templars met me at the gate to the city. I went along with them until that mage hit me with the blood magic. Next thing I know, I’m waking up on the Wounded Coast with you standing over me.”

Hawke poured him another glass. “Well, I appreciate you coming. Why would they want my blood, though?” She paused. “Our blood?”

Carver shrugged. “They were Tainted. Ghouls like that…they don’t run on things like logic or reason.”

“Carver!” Merrill called as she came in. “Are you feeling better? Blood magic can make you woozy, you know. You should rest.”

“I’m fine, Merrill,” Carver said. “Thank you for asking, though.”

“Lethallan, I’ll be upstairs,” Merrill said. Hawke winked at her.

“So...” Carver said slowly, looking at Merrill as she ascended the stairs. “How is Merrill?”

“She’s fine, all things considered. Why do you…” Hawke paused with her drink at her lips, her eyes widening. “Wait.”

“What?”

“You. Merrill.” Hawke set the drink down, staring at her brother. “Andraste’s tits, I can’t believe I never saw it before!”

“What? No! No, no no no. You’ve got it wrong.”

Hawke groaned. “If I’d known, Carver, I…”

Carver tilted his head. “You what?”

“Um…” Hawke winced. “She’s sort of…living here, now.”

“Well that’s nice, her little house in the alienage was pretty run-down,” Carver replied.

“Living here…with me.”

“I assumed you were living here too,” Carver said, clearly not getting it.

Hawke grimaced. “Living here…sleeping in my bedroom. With me. In the same bed.”

Carver paused. “Oh.” He downed his drink. “I see. I mean, I knew you and Isabela, but…”

“Well, um, we are,” Hawke said. “And me and Merrill…and Merrill and Isabela…”

Carver reached for the bottle. “I’m not drunk enough to have this conversation with my sister.” Four quickly-finished drinks for each of them later, Carver nodded. “A’right. When’d _that_ happ’n?”

“After the Qunari innis…incididi…the Qunari thing,” Hawke said, pleasantly numb. “I go’ hurt, and she came by. Kissed me. I went to Izzy…er, Isabela, and she tol’ me to go affer her.”

Carver nodded, his head lolling slightly to one side. “Well, she’s not leavin’ you, you’re not leavin’ Kir’wall, so even if you weren’…together it wasn’ likely she and I were going to…” Hawke shrugged. “You like her?”

“I love her,” Hawke said. “Really do.”

Carver raised his glass to her. Half its contents wound up on the table. “Goo’ enou’.”

“Hawke, is Merrill here?” Isabela asked from the door.

“She’s ussairs,” Hawke said, pointing in the general direction of up. She thought. Maybe she did. She wasn’t sure. She pointed. She knew that much.

Isabela smirked. “Had a few, sweet thing?”

“Lots,” Hawke said happily.

“Well, have some water before you pass out,” Isabela said. “I’ll be upstairs with Merrill.”

Carver waited until she left before turning back to Hawke. “I worry ‘bout you.”

“Worry about you too,” Hawke replied, drinking. “W’rdens fight darkspun.”

“Not just tha’,” Carver insisted. “Every time we got inna figh’, I thought ‘bout…” He paused. “Bout…”

Hawke realized who he was talking about. “I know.”

“We coul’ ‘ave been killed so many times,” Carver went on. “We los’ so many. An’…I can’ deal wi’ los’n you too.”

“Me neither,” Hawke admitted. “You’re my brother. An’ I love you.”

“Here’s to you,” Carver said, raising his glass. Had Hawke refilled it? She couldn’t remember. She was too busy refilling her own glass. “Bes’ Champion ever.”

They drank, and that was the last thing Hawke remembered from that night.

—ROTC—

Hawke cracked an eye partway open and immediately regretted it. Her gut ached, her mouth was bone-dry, and the tiny amount of light coming in through the gap in the drapes sent spikes of pain through her head. She groaned, then groaned again as the noise seemed amplified a dozen times and intensified the ache. That led to more groaning.

Slowly, the sound of the sheets on the bed seeming deafening, Hawke reached out. She encountered a warm, soft form, and felt around a bit, determining it was Merrill. Hawke slowly turned over, spotting Carver laying on the floor on his side, looking up at her. Judging by the bleary look in his eyes, he had been awake roughly as long as Hawke had.

“You alive?” Hawke whispered.

“I’m not going to talk, until you stop screaming,” Carver mumbled.

Hawke nodded in agreement, doing a quick check to make sure she had something on before sitting up on the bed and setting her bare feet on the floor. Isabela had gotten them into the habit of sleeping naked, but Hawke was in no hurry to blind her brother.

Merrill rolled over, mumbling as she opened her eyes. “Mm. Good morning, _lethallan_.”

Hawke clutched at her head. “Oh, what a rotten thing to say.”

Merril sat up, squeaking when she spotted Carver laying on the floor, and clutched the covers to her chest. “Sorry!”

“Come on,” Hawke groaned, standing up. “Let’s get something to eat. And water. Lots of water.”

“Not until the giant stops spinning the house,” Carver said, slowly standing.

They had managed to make it most of the way down the stairs without causing themselves significant injury when the front door flew open. “We must get the blood of the Hawke!” someone shouted.

Hawke groaned, leaning against the bannister. “Oh, fuck, not _now_, come back later and I’ll kill you then!”

“Attack!” Hawke hit the dwarf in front with a blast of force, sending him flying back into the foyer and buying them a few seconds to get the rest of the way down the stairs. Carver staggered over, picking up a heavy oaken hat stand and swinging it hard enough to knock the first dwarf that got close to him across the room.

Hawke casually stumbled out of the way of another berserk dwarf’s knives, backhanding him with a blast of force magic that sent him flying into the wall. He slid to the ground and didn’t get up.

Anders erupted from the stairs leading to the basement, his staff up and lightning arcing to the floor tiles. “They’re Tainted! Hawke, get back!”

Hawke backpedaled as another dwarf swung an axe at her, her head throbbing from the shouts and the clash of lightning and weapons. She blew the attacking dwarf off his feet, the airborne assailant knocking another dwarf flat as the first dwarf landed on him. Hawke slammed a fist into the floor tiles, a downward pulse of force magic crushing both dwarves into the floor.

Multiple bolts of lightning arced down from the landing, and Hawke glanced up to see Merrill standing at the railing, her eyes ablaze with fury and completely naked besides the tattoos that traced her form. “_Dread Wolf take you!_” She pointed at a dwarf that she judged was too close to Hawke, and the dwarf froze solid, shattering a moment later as Carver whacked him with his makeshift bludgeon. She pointed at another dwarf, lightning arcing from her hand to the target and the two dwarves nearest him. All three of the dwarves collapsed, smoking and twitching.

By the time the last of the attacking dwarves fell, Hawke and the others were bloodied and breathing heavily. “Hawke!” Isabela shouted from the front hall. “You all right?”

“Isabela?” Hawke called. “When did you get here?”

“I was coming to check on you,” she replied, wiping blood from her knives as she entered the main hall. “Found these dwarves attacking.” She gestured over her shoulder with one of the daggers. “There’s…quite a few of them dead behind me. I stopped counting at twelve.” She smirked as she spotted Merrill. “That’s a good look for you, Kitten.”

Hawke looked up from healing a gash on her arm and grinned. “You want to put something on, dear?” Merrill glanced down at herself, squeaked, and fled to the bedroom.

“I’m not sure if I should be offended or not that they sent more after you than they did me,” Carver remarked, leaning on the broken hat stand as Anders checked him over.

“They would have known you were here,” Hawke replied. “I guess they figured it was a two-for-one deal.”

“You hurt?” Isabela asked.

“Besides a couple of monstrous hangovers, I think we’re all right,” Hawke said.

Isabela surveyed the battlefield that the estate had become. “Well, it certainly didn’t slow either of you down any.” She glanced at Carver wiping blood from his face. “I always did like a man on a mission.”

“Wardens go _deep_,” Carver replied. “It’s a _hard_ calling. And we also save the world.”

“Very interesting.”

“I’ll tell you about it sometime, when I’m not, you know, saving the world,” Carver said with a grin.

“Hey,” Hawke protested.

“Hawke!” Guards were suddenly entering the estate with weapons drawn, Aveline at their front. “What happened?”

Hawke shrugged. “Just a normal Tuesday morning around Kirkwall.”

Aveline paused. “It’s Friday. _What happened?_”

“A fuckload of Tainted dwarves tried to kill us for reasons as of yet unknown,” Hawke said. “I am _spectacularly _hungover right now, so please, talk in small letters. It’s a family issue, so please have some of your men check on Gamlen.”

“Brennan, take Campbell and Algar and go to Lowtown,” Aveline ordered, giving directions to Gamlen’s house.

Merrill emerged from the bedroom dressed in her usual robes. “Are you hurt?”

Hawke shook her head. “We need to gather the others. And fast.”

“You’re not about to do something rash and irresponsible, are you?” Aveline asked.

“When have I ever done something rash or irresponsible?” Hawke protested, heading for the door.

Aveline gave her a Look. “Do you want the list in chronological order, or by how rash or irresponsible it was?” Aveline asked, following her closely.

Hawke shrugged. “Dealer’s choice.” Fenris’s mansion was unlocked as always, and Hawke found Varric inside, talking to Fenris.

“You, elf, are one lucky son-of-a-bitch.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Is this about the diamondback game? Again?”

“I’ve never seen anyone bluff like that in my life! I was sure you had a hand full of nothing.”

Fenris smirked. “So was I. You’re the one who pointed out I had four serpents.”

Varric threw up his hands. “See? Luckiest bastard I’ve ever seen.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Hawke said as she entered the room.

“Hawke,” Fenris greeted, then frowned. “You’re in your home clothes. You never wear that outside.”

“Didn’t have time to change,” Hawke replied. “A bunch of crazy dwarves just attacked the estate. None of us got hurt, but I’m getting the group together.”

Varric grimaced. “I’ll put some feelers out. See what I can turn up about who these idiots are.”

Varric had answers by nightfall. Gamlen had been brought to the estate under protest, and he was irritably pacing in the sitting room. The bodies had been cleared out and the floors had been scrubbed thoroughly, and Hawke was sitting at a table in the study when Varric re-entered. Isabela was in the other chair, her boots up on the table and Merrill perched in her lap. “They’re Carta,” Varric said.

“What’d I ever do to them?”

“Nothing, and that’s the strange part,” Varric replied, frowning. “None of my contacts in the Carta have any idea why you and Carver are marked. None of them have even had any contact with the ones attacking you in months. It’s like this cell just dropped off the map, then showed up again crazy.”

Hawke rubbed at her face. “There must be something to cause this.”

“Well, there is one lead,” Varric said. “One of the last things they heard from this cell before they went silent was that they found an old dwarven fortress in the Vimmarks.”

“Right where my patrol was headed,” Carver said. “That can’t be coincidence.”

“Coincidence is for people too blind to see patterns,” Varric agreed. “I’ve got directions to where they found the fortress.”

“You’re planning to go after them?” Gamlen asked. “Seems dangerous to hit them on their own ground.”

“Well these dwarves have a bad habit of not surviving to answer questions when they come to me,” Hawke remarked. “If I want to find out why they’re after Hawke blood, I’ll need to ask them directly.”

“This seems like the kind of thing a responsible parent wouldn’t want you doing,” Gamlen said. “Good thing I’m an uncle!”

“I just don’t want them attacking your mansion again,” Isabela said. “What if I’m there, naked? That would be awkward.” Merrill blushed.

“It takes a special kind of crazy to go after you,” Varric added. “And the Carta isn’t the type to just go away.”

“So now you’re the target of batty dwarven assassins?” Isabela asked. “You do attract the strangest types.”

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?”

“I wonder what it is. Perhaps you should bathe more frequently.”

“I can’t do that,” Hawke protested. “I’ll wash off whatever attracts the lust-addled pirates.”

Isabela laughed. “Ooh, touché.”

“I suppose we had better take everyone, if we’re going to hit them,” Hawke mused. “Fenris, Aveline too, even Sebastian. How far is the fortress?”

“A few day’s travel. Overland, this time.”

—ROTC—

“There it is,” Varric said, pointing at the large gateway visible in the distance as they crested the last hill. The gates were long gone, scavenged or crumbled from age, but the stone gateway still stood. They had left the wagons a few hundred yards back where the road ended in a rockslide and a handful of burned wagons.

“It doesn’t look all that dwarven,” Carver remarked.

“You can recognize dwarven architecture?” Hawke asked.

Carver gave her an irritated look. “You remember I spend a lot of time in the Deep Roads, right? And there’s one rather obvious point.”

“That being?”

“It’s on the _surface_. Dwarves don’t build anything permanent aboveground if they can help it.”

“These are Carta dwarves, so they’re more criminals and smugglers than anything else,” Varric broke in. “They’re not usually stupid, though. I still can’t figure why they would attack you.”

“They certainly gave it a good shot, both times,” Carver said.

“You have a plan, Hawke?” Varric asked. “I found their hideout, but my sources couldn’t tell me anything else. It’s all very…strange.” Hawke gave him a questioning look. “As far as my contacts in the Carta – the ones who are still sane, mind you – know, the cell that attacked you shouldn’t be here. There shouldn’t even _be_ a ‘here.’ The maps are basically blank in this area. This place is invisible. And I can’t help but feel that someone wanted it that way.”

“Does it matter?” Carver asked. “We need them to stop trying to kill us.”

“And I think I know why this place is off the maps,” Anders said suddenly, still focused on the distant gateway. Everyone turned to look at him. “When I was in the Wardens, I got a look at my old Commander’s maps. He was mapping out as much of the Deep Roads as he could, and some of the map fragments came from Orzammar, when he visited the dwarves during the Blight. There were some markings, unexplored tunnels that lay out to end around this area.” He glanced over at them. “The dwarves sent a few expeditions down that path, trying to find old thaigs. None ever returned.”

“Well _that’s_ ominous,” Hawke muttered.

“Whatever this place is, I’m betting it’s not someplace anyone wants to be,” Anders finished.

“Agreed,” Varric said. “So what’s the plan?”

“There must be a reason they’re attacking us. I intend to find out.”

“Right. Only one way to do that.”

“So we just walk in and slaughter every dwarf in sight?” Carver asked.

“Well, not _every_ dwarf,” Varric replied.

“I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding,” Hawke quipped. “Later we’ll all have tea and we’ll laugh.”

Varric played along. “Oh, your name is Hawke? I thought it was _Locke!_”

“Yes, we were looking for some _other_ combination of general and ringmaster,” Carver deadpanned.

“It’s the Hawke!” A voice called.

“I guess we’re not alone,” Anders said.

“It’s the Carta,” Carver replied, rather unnecessarily. “They’ve seen us.”

“Well then,” Hawke said, drawing her staff. “Let’s go be neighborly.”

“Another mess,” Carver remarked as they moved out. “Is it bad that I’m glad Mother isn’t around to suffer this?”

“We do attract a peculiar kind of fortune,” Hawke admitted.

“I died my way into the Wardens and you punched your way to Champion. We are esteemed.”

“Well deserved, every bit of it. I’m not sure how much more success we can handle, though.”

There were odd shouts among the hilltops around them, but no attack came as they passed through the gateway. A single dwarf was standing just beyond, his eyes fogged by the Taint. “You! The brother and sister both! You’re here together! You’ve come!” He turned, shouting deeper into the fortress. “Everyone! It’s the children of Malcolm Hawke! They’ve come to us!”

Hawke shared a confused glance with Carver. “What does my father have to do with this?” Hawke demanded.

“It began with him and it ends with you!” the dwarf declared. “Blood for blood!”

Hawke gathered mana in expectation of an attack, but didn’t cast yet. “Did…Father cross the Carta, somehow?” Carver asked.

“You’ve come to us! That’s the only thing that matters!”

“The only thing that matters is why you lunatics are attacking my family,” Hawke snapped.

“For the blood!” shouted the dwarf as two of his comrades ran up. “We must have it! Corypheus will walk in the sun once more!” Hawke flattened them with a blast of force as Merrill followed up with a spray of lightning bolts, the arrows from Varric and Sebastian almost an afterthought.

“I’d like to know who this ‘Corypheus’ is,” Hawke said. “With a name like that, I know he’s bound to go ‘Muahaha’ at some point, I just know it. And really? More blood? Why can’t it ever be spit or a lock of hair?”

“You really want to encounter a spit mage?” Varric asked.

Hawke shrugged. “For variety, sure.”

“You worry me, you know that?” Carver said.

“Corypheus is a Tevinter word,” Fenris said. “It means ‘conductor.’”

Hawke grunted. “Interesting. But not particularly informative.”

“They’re after us for our blood,” Carver said. “But why?”

“That’s a very good question,” Hawke replied. “I suspect answers are up ahead.”

“Deranged dwarves,” Anders commented. “We can check that one off the list.”

More crazed dwarves waited down a set of stairs and in front of a weathered wooden stockade. The gate didn’t put up much resistance, and an angry bronto beyond then slowed their progress. The party alternated between ducking out of the creature’s way and attacking it however they could as another handful of dwarves with bows did their best to pick them off from the high ground.

Aveline was looking around uncomfortably when the fighting was over. “These fortifications are _not_ new,” she said. “And this many defensive layers…was it to keep something _out_, or something _in_?”

Hawke looked up from healing a gash in Isabela’s arm, picked up from a passing arrow. “None of this has been good news. Why should the layout of this place be any different?”

They moved past a bend in the trail, and Hawke stopped short. “There it is.”

“A fortress?” Carver asked. “Here in the middle of nowhere?”

The ground fell away into a chasm before them, and in the middle of the chasm was a massive stone tower. Dwarven-style statues and stone griffons adorned the sides of the tower. Anders grunted. “A Warden fortification. Nobody else uses griffons like that. Must have been built by dwarves – other construction doesn’t last that long.”

“Anybody else starting to think we should just turn around and go home?” Hawke asked. “Just me?”

The path led down and into the ground, descending along the side of the chasm where a mess of warren-like rooms were dug.

“I’ve been thinking, Varric, maybe you should publish a sequel to Hard in Hightown,” Hawke said.

“I’m guessing you have something in mind,” Varric replied.

“Call it Lost in Lowtown, base it on Merrill,” Hawke suggested.

Varric snickered. “I’m sure she’d love that.”

“Hawke, mind the traps,” Sebastian warned.

“What?” Hawke asked, moments before twin clangs sounded. Hawke looked down at the traps clamped around her greaves, and then looked up at the dwarf. “Varric, when you tell this story, you leave this part out.” Prying her out took a few moments, and they moved deeper into the complex. “Someday I’ll visit a place with no ancient evils, horrors, devouring plagues, or insanity. Maybe a beach.”

“I can recommend a few, if you’d like,” Isabela offered.

“Please do.”

“The day you go to the beach is the day an armada of angry demon pirates show up,” Varric said.

“Watch out, the ground looks treacherous here,” Isabela warned.

“Showing concern for others, Isabela?” Hawke teased. “Tongues will wag.”

“Oh you can bet they will,” Varric said.

“I... just don’t want to see your brains dashed on the ground, that’s all,” Isabela said uncomfortably. “Stop looking at me like that. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Hawke gracefully changed the subject. “I’m surprised you agreed to come, Varric. You hate being underground, and you avoid the Carta the same way you do the Merchant’s Guild.”

“There’s no way I’d miss watching you make these motherless nug-lickers cry,” Varric said.

“And it gets you out of town,” Hawke jibed. “I heard you’re being fixed up with one of the Helmi daughters.”

Varric groaned. “Thanks Hawke. I’ve been trying to forget about that all week.”

“So...not love at first sight?”

“Dusana Helmi is easy on the eyes. Also, she’s tried to kill me five times this year.”

“Did she try again during the date?” Hawke asked.

“She waited until I paid for dinner. She’s in the Merchant’s Guild, Hawke.”

“So, you’re not going to see her again?”

“No,” Varric said emphatically.

“Being the most eligible bachelor in the Merchant Guild is perilous indeed,” Isabela teased.

“I’m going to need more aliases,” Varric sighed.

“While we’re talking about aliases, I’ve heard...stories of a personal nature being spread around town.”

“You’re the Champion of Kirkwall. People pay attention to everything you do. And everyone.” Varric held up his hands as Hawke looked over. “I’m not spreading any tales about you and the Rivaini. Although she asks me every other week to start some. Or about you and Daisy.”

“It would make a great new serial,” Isabela insisted. “Much better than that guard one you’ve been writing.”

“But I’ve been meaning to ask. When you tell people about our escape from Lothering, why do you make it seem like I have food all over my face?”

“You’re larger than life, Hawke. I had to give you a few flaws just to make you approachable.”

Hawke stopped short. “Did you call me fat?”

Varric nodded. “Yes, that’s pretty much how I tell it. ‘Hawke rolled into the fray like a gigantic pudding, covered in gravy.’ It’s more dramatic that way.”

“I’m not sure about the epicness of this tale. Does it have to be gravy? Couldn’t it be chocolate instead?”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Varric sighed.

They scouted around, finding an old scout’s report. “Looks like someone was scouting these ruins. One of their men went crazy and ran into the caverns – oh, good, there’s _caverns_,” Varric said acidly. “They went after him. No further entries.” He dropped the report in the dirt. “Can we _go_ now?”

More traps and more crazed dwarves were ahead. Then they found a door that led deep into the tunnels that honeycombed the side of the chasm.

The interior looked less like the Warden base Hawke was expecting and more like a Kirkwall warehouse – pillars of rough-hewn wood, crates scattered around the room, and lanterns burning along the walls. A single sentry was asleep on the floor, until Isabela crept forward and cut his throat. The gurgling of the dying sentry trying to draw breath attracted attention, and the fight was on again.

“Stay alert,” Hawke warned as they pushed deeper. “There’s a lot of side rooms and blind corridors here.”

They found printed orders a few rooms in, and Varric whistled as he picked up the paper. “We have learned Carver Hawke is with the Grey Wardens,” he read aloud. “Search all of the Free Marches if you must, but find him. Kill whoever gets in your way, but make sure the boy is unharmed. The blood of Malcolm Hawke must remain pure. The Great One demands this of you. In the name of the Master, Corypheus. May he see sunlight again.” He glanced at Hawke. “I guess they found him first, and went after you as a second choice.”

“Only wise decision I’ve seen,” Carver said. “I was more isolated. Easier to abduct than someone in the middle of a city.”

“You’ve been away too long, Junior,” Varric replied.

“Running short of fodder for your stories?”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Do you know another lovable lug with more sword than sense?”

Carver rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen things far more threatening than your verse, my friend. Do your worst.”

“So be it. We shall meet in battle when properly drunk. And safe from darkspawn, blah blah blah.” He paused. “Fact is I miss having another sword I can trust around.”

Carver scoffed. “You need me around? Still playing the innocent while picking every purse in sight?”

“Still...” He paused. “Actually, you’re doing all right.”

“Thought I was. I suppose it’s the same for you, really.” Varric sighed in response. “It’s more fun hating each other, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely.”

Hawke shushed them, creeping ahead as she heard voices. “If I get the Hawke’s blood, Rhatigan says I can go into the tunnels and drink of the Master!” A dwarf was saying.

“We must wait in silence,” another replied. “The Master commands it.”

“I hate how all of you get to hear his voice,” the first complained. “I never do…”

“So why does the Master want this Hawke lady, anyway?” A third asked, clearly not hearing the command for silence.

“It is not our place to question,” the second said.

“Does it have something to do with the key?” The third went on. “Didn’t it belong to somebody Hawke?”

“Be quiet!”

Hawke rolled her eyes, before crushing them all into the floorboards with a blast of force that snapped their spines. They pushed on, through more of the berserk Carta, and found what looked like notes for a speech. Hawke held it up to the light. “Praise Corypheus! Like many of you, I was once a thieving wretch. I was a servant to coin and my own base desires. And that is when I heard his call. Corypheus opened my eyes, just as he has opened yours, and showed me what was true. What is the Carta beside Corypheus? Nothing but dust and ashes. Only Corypheus is eternal. We are his hands and his eyes on the surface. We are the ones he honored with his trust, to dig him from his prison in the Deep Roads. When Corypheus steps into the sunlight, we will be rewarded. Praise him! Praise Corypheus.”

“Dwarves and politics are never a good mix,” Varric warned.

There was a journal nearby, and Anders picked it up. “The name Rhatigan mean anything to anyone?”

“He’s the leader of the Carta in Kirkwall,” Varric said. “How far up does this go?”

“What does it say, Anders?”

“The Wardens did not guard the Key with care,” Anders read aloud. “It was left in a repository, with objects of little worth. Trinkets. Dusty Grey Warden trophies. Not even a guard posted. Fools. If only they knew what they had, and had lost.” He paused and made a face. “That’s…not uncommon. The Wardens often recover things, things whose purpose they aren’t entirely sure of. Sometimes these things get stuck in a closet and forgotten about.” He shook his head and continued reading. “It will not wake at my touch; it sleeps and its power remains within. The Great One says it requires Malcolm Hawke’s blood to awaken it. Only then can its powers set him free. I will find the heir to the blood and the Great One will reward me. Yes. Let it be soon.”

“Keys and blood,” Carver said. “Not a good sign, and not how I want to think of Father.”

“Your father was a blood mage?” Sebastian asked.

Hawke gave him an annoyed look. “If he was, he never told me. But then that’s not something that comes up at dinner.” She looked around. “If this was a Grey Warden outpost, where are the Wardens?”

“I have no idea,” Carver admitted. “But then, nobody even told me this place existed.”

“Anders?”

“Two possibilities,” the man said tiredly. “The one I’m hoping for is that the Marcher Wardens simply didn’t have the manpower. There’s what, a hundred in the entire Free Marches? Maybe two hundred?” Carver nodded. “It would take too many to fortify what we’ve seen so far, let alone what lies below us. It was four hundred years between the Fourth and Fifth Blights alone. This place might have been abandoned simply for lack of ability to maintain it.”

“And the other possibility?” Aveline asked, clearly not expecting good news.

“Whatever this Corypheus is, the Warden-Commander who had this place abandoned thought it was better off forgotten than guarded. Better hidden by nobody coming here at all.”

Fenris nudged Hawke’s elbow. “How is it you get into these situations so often?”

“What do you mean?”

“Attacked by dwarves, approached by strangers, stumbling upon ancient riddles...madness.”

“It’s a gift,” Hawke grumbled.

Fenris laughed. “Well _I_ think you should return it. Exchange it, if nothing else.”

They searched the area, finding a substantial amount of coin and medical supplies. Fenris was looking around warily, and Aveline caught his attention. “You’re on edge.”

“It’s that obvious?”

“With you? Never. But down here, it was a smart guess.”

Fenris nodded. “Thieves, blind worshippers and something...very wrong beneath it all.”

“Something for everyone.”

“It’s unexpected, to say the least. I thought all dwarves did was drink.”

“Hey now!” Varric protested.

“And lie,” Fenris amended. “Pardon the omission.”

“That’s better.”

“So, Varric, this ‘spy network’ of yours…” Fenris said.

“Oh, this I have to hear.”

“You don’t have one, do you?” Fenris accused. “You make it all up.”

Varric shrugged. “Could be. That, or I have an army of elven urchins, and they’re all watching.”

Fenris tilted his head. “You are a strange, hairy little man.”

They made their way deeper in, past what looked like mining tracks and abandoned carts. “Was this a prison, a base, or a mine?” Hawke asked. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“The Hawke’s blood!” Came the cry. “The Master will rise. He will be free!”

Hawke made to draw her staff, but Varric held out a hand to stop her. “Gerav?”

The young dwarf who had shouted looked bewildered beneath the filth and the Taint in his eyes. “Varric? No one told me you would be part of this. We were just going after the Hawke!”

“Why has the Carta been attacking me?” Hawke demanded.

“I can’t say,” Gerav insisted. “The Master must be free…”

“Really, Gerav?” Varric said. “I thought better of you than this. I mean, gutting the occasional competitor for fun and profit, that’s the game. But what are you all even doing here? Worshipping demons?”

“We drink the darkspawn blood,” Gerav said. “He calls us…”

“Why would you do that?” Anders asked incredulously. “There’s faster ways to kill yourself.”

“It’s the only way to hear the music,” Gerav babbled.

“Oh come on, you nug-licker!” Varric snapped. “There’s no gold in hallucinating!”

“Who is this man, anyway?” Hawke asked.

“Hawke, this is Gerav, a greedy, brilliant, greedy, bastard son-of-a-nug from the Carta. Gerav, this is Hawke, the one whose blood you want to drink or bathe in or whatever. But if you’re after eternal youth, I’ve got to tell you, she’s no virgin.”

Gerav’s voice dulled. “The Master is calling. He needs the blood.”

“Gerav, buddy!” Varric pleaded. “This isn’t like you! Look!” He drew Bianca. “I’ve still got Bianca. Never misfired a day in her life. You don’t want her to see her papa like this, do you?”

Gerav drew his daggers in response. “You want to spare him?” Hawke asked.

“Not if he’s after you, Hawke,” Varric said grimly as more dwarves stormed into the room.

Things exploded into violence as Varric caught Gerav in the shoulder with a bolt, and Hawke fell back as Aveline, Carver, and Fenris tore into the dwarves. Fire streamed around Anders’ staff, and Hawke held out a hand. “No! There’s sawdust in the air. We could all go up! Frost and force only!” Flinging frost, forcespells, and arrows, the ranged fighters in Hawke’s group backed up the others.

When it was over, Varric knelt over Gerav’s body. “You poor, stupid bastard.”

“You all right?” Isabela asked.

“I used to do business with the Carta, back in the day,” Varric explained. “Gerav was a nutcase then, too, but in a good way. He was trying to design a new type of repeating crossbow. Bianca was the only one that ever worked.” He stood and walked away. “I can’t believe he ended up like that.”

For several rooms, there was no resistance, and the tension grew every time Hawke led the way into a new room with Carver close behind and found nobody there to fight. It was almost a relief when they ran into Rhatigan himself.

“Hawke,” the dwarf said. “They told me you were going to be trouble.” He began swaggering toward them, and Hawke took note of his heavy dwarven-made armor. “And look, you brought the whole family. How generous. I swore to Corypheus we’d bring him Malcolm Hawke’s blood. One way or the other…”

“What does this have to do with my father?” Hawke demanded.

“The Master wants you. I don’t ask why. What Corypheus wants, Corypheus gets. From us, or from someone.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Get fucked.” She blew him across the room hard enough to snap his neck on impact, the others falling on the dozen dwarves that served as his personal guard. When the last one dropped, Hawke knelt over Rhatigan, tilting her head in confusion.

“You see something?” Isabela asked.

Hawke stood up with a full-size mage’s staff in her hands, a gaudy thing of silverite and onyx. “And where was he hiding this?”

“They don’t have anything like that in the Wardens,” Carver commented.

“I should fucking hope not,” Hawke muttered. “There’s only so many places you can stash something like this.” She shifted the staff to her other hand, the bare skin of her fingers making contact with the staff. There was a blaze of power, and Hawke fell to her knees, crying out. “What is this? I can feel it inside me!” Isabela smacked the staff out of her hands, and Hawke fell forward onto her elbows, panting.

Merrill was at her side when Hawke came to her senses. “Are you all right?”

Hawke coughed, her eyes closed as her head spun. “Ow.”

“Eloquent,” Varric deadpanned.

“That…staff,” Hawke said. “I think that’s the Key those notes were talking about.” She stood up. “It’s going to take me to Corypheus.”

“Well you didn’t seem to enjoy picking it up the first time,” Carver said. “Is it safe?”

“One way to find out,” Hawke muttered, stumbling over to the staff and gingerly picking it up. Nothing happened, and she shrugged. “Guess it was just the first time.”

“A key, tuned to your father’s blood,” Anders surmised. “Sounds like a ritual element for blood magic. Be careful, Hawke.”

“Doesn’t make sense,” Hawke replied. “My father never used blood magic.” She turned the staff over. “But this thing has…power, to it. Power I haven’t felt with any other staff.”

“Donnic tells me you have spoken of children,” Fenris remarked as Hawke rigged a strap for the staff, slinging it over her shoulder.

“You two talk too much,” Aveline sighed.

Fenris chuckled. “I picture a redheaded brood, each able to lift a cow.”

Aveline laughed. “If you also picture Donnic carrying them to term and pushing them out of his ass, then I’m all for it.”

“Come on,” Hawke said. “There’s a tunnel ahead. Looks more Wardeny than dwarfy.”

“Interesting story I heard about you, Isabela...” Fenris began as they followed the tunnel.

“Yes, yes, all right,” Isabela sighed. “I just want it known I never asked for the goat. And the fire was accidental.”

“I...” Fenris paused, shaking his head in confusion “That wasn’t the story.”

“Oh, this I have to hear,” Varric said gleefully.

“No, you really don’t want to know,” Hawke said, rubbing at a scar on her arm. “Trust me.”

Fenris tried a different subject. “So these slaves you freed...”

Isabela huffed in annoyance. “This again.”

“Such an act seems out of character,” Fenris remarked.

“Temporary insanity,” Isabela insisted. “A bout of foul morality. A horrifying fit of decency.” Fenris gave her a knowing smile. “What? I got better.”

“You know, if you have time, I could give you a few archery pointers,” Sebastian offered.

Varric turned, his mouth open in shock. “Excuse me?”

“Sometimes your shots veer a little left, I thought maybe your cocking ring was off. I could take a look if you like.”

“_You want to touch Bianca’s cocking ring?_”

“It was just a thought,” Sebastian said hastily.

The tunnel became a staircase, weathered and crumbled with age but still useable, and they encountered another pack of Carta at the base. The dwarves ran rather than engage them, and Hawke’s party took off in pursuit, until Anders shouted a warning from the rear. Hawke turned, seeing a glowing orange barrier barring their retreat.

A few minutes passed as the mages inspected the barrier, attempted different methods of neutralizing it, and finally concluded that the barrier was impassible. “I guess we should have seen that coming,” Hawke said sheepishly.

“Hawke,” Isabela called from what appeared to be a balcony. “Take a look at this.” Hawke looked out from the balcony, seeing what appeared to be a watchtower underground. “The dwarves are definitely compensating for something.”

There were figures moving along the floors of the tower, and Anders’ face darkened. “And I thought I’d left darkspawn behind for good.”

Isabela nudged Hawke. “I prefer towers filled with coin to towers filled with darkspawn, for future reference.”

“I’ll make a note,” Hawke said dryly. “There has to be a way out. This Key was on the _other_ side of the barrier, so there has to be a way to get back or to turn that thing off.”

“Do you hope to learn something about your father down here?” Isabela asked.

“So long as it doesn’t also involve my mother,” Hawke replied. “Some things about your parents should never see the light of day.”

“Well, I think your father sounds like someone worth knowing. According my mother, my father wasn’t. Not even for one night.”

“Some people are the way they are because of their parents, some people are the way they are in spite of their parents,” Hawke said. She looked over the edge of the balcony. “If we had a rope, we might be able to try climbing down…”

“Bad idea,” Carver said. “The dwarves and the darkspawn down here could catch us from behind.”

“You’ve certainly...filled out, Carver,” Isabela remarked. “Shame, really, I hear joining the Wardens separates the men from their ‘boys.’”

“We rarely have children, true,” Carver drawled. “But don’t worry, that just means I try ever so much…_harder_.” Hawke’s eyes widened.

Isabela grinned. “Ooh, I like you all grown up.”

“No, you don’t,” Hawke blurted out, looking at Carver. “_No, she doesn’t_!”

“Junior took down the Rivaini?” Varric asked. “Who’s telling this story?”

Isabela purred, pressing herself against Carver with a wink. “Do you know how long a Deep Roads patrol is?” Carver asked, fighting a grin. “The stamina it requires?”

“Go on…”

“Do _not_ go on!”

“We can go for _days_,” Carver went on. “Never flagging, never stopping…”

“Carver!” Aveline gasped.

“I’m not sure if I’m aroused or scared,” Isabela replied. “But I like it.”

“That’s it, we’re moving!” Hawke burst through the next door and cheered. “Oh, good, darkspawn!” She lobbed a fireball, igniting the genlocks currently feeding on the corpses of the dwarves that had lured them past the barrier.

There was another barrier ahead, blocking off a single space. “Is this…a cell of some sort?” Varric asked, looking at the barrier.

“_Be bound here for eternity, hunger stilled, rage smothered, desire dampened, pride crushed. In the name of the Maker, so let it be._”

Hawke glanced around. “You all heard that, right?” She got a series of nods. “Great. Because…that sounded like my father.”

Anders examined the symbol more closely, before recoiling. “Oh, not good.”

“What is it? Demons?” Hawke asked.

“Yes, I remember seeing this symbol before,” Anders replied. “The Wardens had been trained on fighting loose demons with these symbols and had extensive lore on it too. It’s called the Mark of the Binder.”

“_Then why am I hearing my father_,” Hawke said quietly.

“It’s part of the enchantment,” Anders explained. “It’s very sophisticated...and _very _illegal. Hawke, this is blood magic.”

Hawke stared at Anders for a long pause. “_What_?”

“It’s blood magic,” Anders repeated. “The Wardens were only warned about how to destroy these bindings and the demons, but…”

“That’s not what I’m asking about!” Hawke snapped. “My father did _not _use blood magic!”

“Hawke, I’m...afraid he did,” Merrill said softly. “It...it wouldn’t be his voice in this otherwise. The Dalish know of this magic as well.”

“I don’t believe it,” Hawke said firmly. “It’s not that I think blood magic is evil, Merrill has taught me otherwise, it’s just that my father was so staunchly against it. I can’t imagine that he would ever use it. I…let’s just go.”

The cell held a captive shade, and moments later the unbound demon dissolved as the mages in the party shredded it with magic.

“_I can do nothing about the Warden’s use of demons in this horrid place, but I will have no one say that any magic of mine released one into the world._”

Hawke froze. “So he did…but he was trying to _contain_ them for the Wardens. What was going on here?”

“Nothing good,” Carver said. “Father never mentioned anything to do with the Grey Wardens. Ever.”

“To me, either,” Hawke agreed. “So clearly, whatever happened here wasn’t anything he wanted to talk about.”

They moved on, coming across the bridge to the watchtower. Sebastian spotted movement and raised his bow, but Hawke stopped him. “That’s…not a darkspawn, is it.”

“No, it’s not,” Anders said. “That’s a ghoul.” His eyes widened as the ghoul stood and closed on them. “Oh, dear…”

“The Key!” the ghoul babbled. “Did they find it? The dwarves? I heard them, looking, digging…” Hawke got a closer look – and smell – of the ghoul. It moved like a darkspawn, but lacked the dark, mottled skin of a hurlock and had scraggly patches of hair on its head and face. It wore armor, but the metal was so rusted, pitted, and filthy any heraldry was obscured. “How do you bring the Key here?”

“You mean this?” Hawke asked, hefting the Key. “How can this be a key?”

“Magic! Old magic it is. Old magic from the blood. It made the seals. It can destroy them.”

“We’re in here to find Corypheus,” Hawke said. “Do you know where, or _what_, he is?”

“_Do not say his name!_” The ghoul hissed. “He will hear you. Do not wake him! Not when you hold the Key!”

“Who, or _what_, are you?” Hawke asked.

“You ask me that? I am the one who belongs here, not you. You are no darkspawn.”

“That armor,” Carver said softly. “It’s Warden issue.”

“That’s because this man is…_was_,” Anders amended, “a Grey Warden.”

“You hear it, no?” the ghoul said. “Hear it calling? I smell it in you.” Anders winced. “Wardens, yes. Guardians against the Blight.”

“What happened to him to turn him into this?” Hawke asked.

Carver shot Anders a warning look, but Anders shook his head. “The Wardens take the Taint into their bodies to fight the darkspawn. Given long enough, the Taint begins to take effect.”

Hawke turned to Carver. “You mean…”

“That’s what Wardens become,” Carver said tightly. “If they don’t die in battle.”

Hawke swallowed hard. “I…I’m sorry, Carver. I never should have taken you down there.”

“It happens to every Warden, eventually,” Anders said. “Well, possibly.”

“What do you mean, possibly?” Carver demanded. “The Calling happens to all Wardens.”

“The Fereldan Wardens came up with an alchemical solution that helps control the Taint in our bodies,” Anders said. “The other Wardens haven’t started using it, last I heard. But they thought it might delay the Calling, if not prevent it entirely.”

“Someone want to fill the rest of us in?” Hawke said irritably.

“Thirty years, give or take,” Anders replied. “Then you go to Orzammar, where they’re never short of darkspawn, and you take out as many as you can. This man must have been a Warden, come down here on his Calling.” He stepped forward, looking the ghoul in his filmy eyes. “Do you remember your name, Warden? How long have you been down here in the dark?”

“So long since I’ve said my name,” the ghoul whispered. “La…Larius! I was Larius. There was a title, too. Commander…Commander of the Grey. I am dead. But I never died.”

“Warden-Commander Davis has been in his position for almost a decade,” Carver said. “How have you been down here so long and lived?”

“If the corruption goes far enough, if you survive that long, the darkspawn see you as one of them,” Anders said. “He’s safer down here than we are.”

“The door sealed behind us,” Hawke said, trying to focus on the issue at hand. “Is there another exit?”

“We can’t leave until we make sure this Corypheus never comes after us again,” Carver objected.

“No way out when the walls stand,” Larius rambled. “The Wardens build their prisons well. If the center holds, who cares what else is trapped?”

“I don’t think we’re getting any help here, Hawke,” Varric warned.

Larius’s eyes widened at the name. “Hawke! You are the blood of the Hawke? Yes, I smell the magic on you…but you hold the Key! The key to his death...Yes, I can show you out, yes. I know the way out. Follow me. Down and in. Down and in.”

“Fair enough,” Hawke said. “What do we need to do?”

“The seals hold us in,” Larius said. “Anything comes in, nothing ever leaves. Not without the key. You must use it, yes. On the seals. Every seal, you touch the key to it. Only then they open. Only for the Hawke. Not back, not up. Only way out is down, and through the heart. Down, in the depths.” He scurried off.

“Careful,” Carver warned. “Things down here, they can get…complicated.”

“I hardly trust the source, but the Carta called that thing a key as well,” Fenris pointed out.

“The corruption of that…man,” Carver said softly. “I’ve been a Warden how long, and I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Anders replied. “Each Warden knows when his time has come. He doesn’t usually make noise when he leaves.”

“I guess that’s why I’m still alive,” Carver said. “To stop that.”

“I don’t envy you the job,” Hawke replied.

“The attacks that brought me here were almost a welcome diversion,” Carver went on. “A normal assault with a normal enemy.” He snorted. “I should have known, really. Nothing normal about it.”

They crossed the bridge to the tower, finding a round chamber inside. The other exit was covered by another glowing barrier, and there was a massive, translucent figure in the middle that the mages stopped short upon seeing. “Shit.”

“What _is_ that?” Carver asked.

Hawke kept the Key up, looking around warily. “That would be a Pride demon.”

“Maker have mercy,” Sebastian breathed.

“It’s…bound,” Merrill said. “In the circle.” She looked around. “These symbols…”

Anders was examining the lyrium torches at the edges of the circle that held the demon. “It’s certainly held in place. It seems to be powering that barrier. There’s more power going…somewhere else, but I can’t tell where.”

“They’re drawing power from the spirit,” Merrill confirmed. “I don’t think we’re getting past without destroying it.”

“Well then, we’re in for a fight,” Hawke sighed. “Get ready, everyone.”

The entire warding scheme unraveled when Hawke broke the ring of lyrium at the edge of the binding circle, and Hawke felt the backlash like a kick in the chest. The demon roared, but all nine of them set on it at once, freezing it solid and ripping it to pieces.

There was a rattling cough from the door behind them, and Hawke turned to see Larius. “Let me guess,” She said. “The first seal?”

“Two thousand years, the magic holds. Never broken. Give it the key. Let it take the magic back to itself. Absorb it, all who came before…”

Hawke gingerly held out the staff, approaching the circle. “Hawke…” Merrill said. “Be careful.”

“No argument,” Hawke muttered. As soon as the staff crossed the edge, it leapt from her hands into the middle of the circle, glowing so brightly it hurt to look at. When the glow faded, Hawke held out her hand, the staff flying back to her. “Well, that’s new.” She slung the staff, feeling power thrumming through it.

“The blood works,” Larius said. “It is good.”

“What does this seal have to do with my blood, with my family’s blood?” Hawke asked.

“The magic, it calls to the blood, reads the thoughts of those that hold the Key. The last to hold it…the Hawke. I was here, when he laid the seals. Before…I became this.” His clouded eyes turned to Hawke and Carver. “You both favor him.” Suddenly, he jerked. “Corypheus calls, in the darkness! What waits there?” He scuttled off into the shadows.

“What exactly did Father get mixed up in?” Hawke asked nobody in particular.

Anders was clutching his head. “I really need to stay out of the Deep Roads…”

“You all right?” Varric asked.

“No, but let’s keep going,” Anders said.

They found another demon bound in a cell not much farther on, and Hawke shuddered as her father’s voice rang out as they began to disrupt the binding. “_Be bound here for eternity, hunger stilled, rage smothered, desire dampened, pride crushed. In the name of the Maker, so let it be._” Another shade was easily torn apart by the party’s combined strength, and the voice continued. “_Magic will serve that which is best in me_,” the specter said. “_Not that which is most base_.”

Hawke blanched. “Not that which is most base,” she whispered. “Dad?”

“That which is best in me,” Carver repeated. “Father used to say that, didn’t he? To you and Bethany?”

“All the time,” Hawke said softly. “It was his creed. He never regretted having magic. He saw it as a gift, not a curse like Bethany did. But he always said that we were to use our magic to help, never to hurt.”

“An admirable goal,” Sebastian said. “I wish more Circle mages felt that way.”

“Most do,” Hawke replied without looking at him. “Talk to a few of them, instead of only listening to Templars. You’ll learn something.”

“She never felt like she could live up to him,” Carver said.

“I know he would have been proud of her,” Hawke replied.

There was a broken bridge ahead, and Hawke could see more darkspawn scurrying about in the shadows. Sebastian and Varric took the time to pick off those they could from a distance, with Anders adding a carefully-aimed lightning bolt that left a genlock screaming and flailing as its flesh burned.

“Isn’t it odd that a darkspawn-filled pit is making me feel closer to Father?” Carver asked.

“How deep does this hole go?” Fenris wondered, looking over the edge.

“It’s gone too far already,” Hawke said sourly. “Come on. There’s got to be another way around.”

Sure enough, the only other available door led to another room filled with darkspawn, including a particularly large and angry hurlock that Carver had to batter down and shove off the edge, where it took a screaming fall to the unseen ground below.

They hunted around the branching rooms, looking for information or loot. Hawke held up a wrought-metal crown, looking at it skeptically. “Oh, dear.”

“What is it?” Varric asked.

Hawke held up the ancient parchment, squinting at the barely-legible writing. “The Crown of Dumat. ‘In reverence, you will approach the altar. Know that you come into the presence of Dumat. With head bowed, say: Blessed are you, Dumat, silent and strong, secret and wise. We bring you gifts, sacrifices to your greatness.’”

“This is meant for a sacrificial ritual,” Fenris explained. “In ancient Tevinter they were used to appease the Old Gods. The magisters still place such offerings, though they pretend now that they’re for Andraste and the Maker.”

“Such superstitions have no place in the Chantry,” Sebastian said darkly.

“Which is why Tevinter left.”

“This thing has lyrium in the metal,” Hawke said, looking at the crown closely. “Would anybody even survive wearing this thing?”

“Not for long,” Anders replied. “A band of solid lyrium around the skull is a great way to cook your own brain.”

The path through the various rooms led around and to another trapped demon. Hawke disrupted the first part of the binding, and Malcolm Hawke’s voice rang out again. “_Be bound here for eternity, hunger stilled, rage smothered, desire dampened, pride crushed. In the name of the Maker, so let it be._”

It wasn’t a simple shade imprisoned in the cell, but a Desire demon, and it managed to raise a few corpses before they killed it. “_I’ve bought our freedom, Leandra. We can go home now, us and the baby. I hope it takes after you, love. I would wish this magic on no one. May they never learn what I’ve done here._”

“It was important to him that you never think of him as a blood mage,” Anders said. “I think he really tried.”

“Father didn’t want a child with magic?” Carver asked. “He got that one wrong twice over. He sure didn’t show any regret back home. The attention he gave you and Bethany…well, I guess he figured the worst that could happen to me was tripping on my sword.”

“I thought Wardens were supposed to be smart,” Hawke sighed.

“Hey, now, that’s not fair,” Anders objected.

“Why do you think Father spent the most time with Bethany? It wasn’t because he liked her better!”

“And how would you know?” Carver spat.

“_Because he told me, you fuckwit!_ He spent so much time with Bethany because she needed the training! By the time her magic manifested, he had already trained me, and he knew you were tough enough to take care of yourself! A badly timed bolt of lightning could have gotten us all killed by the Templars. For fuck’s sake, Carver!” Hawke’s face twisted as emotions she had been carefully keeping suppressed came forward. “Bethany was the best of us.”

“On that, we agree.”

“But she needed him more than me, more than you, more than Mother. And all of us knew that you could handle it. You were always the toughest. They knew that. He knew you didn’t need protecting. You were the strongest of us.” Hawke sat down hard on a broken pillar, fighting the urge to break down right there. “Look. I…I’ve lost all of them. _I couldn’t save any of them!_ I can’t lose you too. I need you to be my brother, Carver. Can you do that?” Carver gave her a hard stare for a few moments longer, before nodding once.

“As touching as all this is,” Varric broke in. “Do you think we could maybe discuss all this when we’re old and farting dust and _out of this bleeding place_?”

Carver closed his eyes, pressing a gauntleted fist to his forehead for a moment, before nodding again. “Right. Let’s go.” Drawing his sword, Carver extended a hand to Hawke. The Champion looked up at her brother for a moment, before smiling faintly and taking it, letting him pull her to her feet. “Fuckwit, eh?” he said, cracking a smile.

Hawke smiled faintly. “Sorry.”

“No worse than I deserve, Dana. I think I just wanted to help back then. I did worry sometimes, for you two. Bethany just wanted to be ‘normal.’ As if I made a good case for it.”

“She knew what we could be,” Hawke said. “Glad to see you’re starting to see it too.”

“As far as we get, they’re still gone. I’m tired of losing things. I miss Bethany and Father. And Mother. You, sometimes. Gamlen can go suck an egg.” Hawke snorted out a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand, and Carver winked at her. “Now, let’s get moving. There’s work to be done. This mess down here, it’s not following us out.” The two siblings embraced tightly for a moment, before Hawke drew the Key again.

“Your father seemed like a wise man who loved you all,” Fenris said. “What is it like, to hear his voice again?”

“He always liked popping out of nowhere to startle us children. It would make us scream with laughter.” Carver smirked at the memory. “It’s nice to know that hasn’t changed.”

They checked around the room, finding plenty of space but little of use.

“One good thing about being trapped in an ancient underground prison…not a lot of templars,” Anders admitted. “There’s a bright side to everything.”

“A new base of operations for Kirkwall’s mage underground? It’s no worse than your current digs,” Hawke said.

“Good point.” Anders looked around. “It’s got…potential. I could be quite comfortable here actually. Clean the taint off the floor, maybe hang a few pictures. It might even be a step up from Darktown.”

Hawke looked around the room, shaking her head. “It would need some work, at that. Maker, doesn’t anyone decorate anymore?”

Merrill nodded in agreement. “What a dreadful place. If I were a darkspawn, I’d plant flowers. Brighten it up.”

“Kitten, any flowers would turn into a man-eating petal monsters within the hour,” Isabela pointed out.

Merrill considered the point briefly. “Maybe just a nice still-life, then.” There were some assorted giggles despite the tension at that. “I am so sorry about the wardrobe, Hawke. Was it very badly smashed?”

Hawke winced. “It’s fine, Merrill. I had to put it out of its misery. How did it break anyway?”

“I didn’t expect it to fall over the railing like that. I thought it’d be more stable.”

Hawke looked over in confusion. “Fell over the railing? What?”

“I mean it held up just fine for me! Poor Sandal, it took hours for Bodahn to coax him down from the chandelier.”

Hawke paused. “On second thought, I don’t want to know.”

Fenris coughed and broke the silence. “Still not an abomination, I see.”

Merrill’s face betrayed nothing beyond her normal sweet disposition, and her tone was pleasant. “Well, let’s take a look. Not insane. Not deformed. Not attacking everyone. No, I think I’m still good!”

“Such a relief. I hear there is going to be an Arlathvhen soon in Halamshiral,” Fenris said carefully. “A large one.”

Merrill looked over in surprise. “A gathering of the clans? How do I not know about that?”

A brief look of smug victory swept across Fenris’s face. “Possibly because some elves are still willing to talk to me.”

Merrill’s face twisted, and she gave the other elf a genuine glare. “You’ve been waiting to say that, haven’t you?”

Fenris shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

“Hey Hawke,” Isabela called. “Look at this.” She held up a blackened iron dagger, the blade bearing the faint glow of lyrium. “I don’t want this. It’s particularly ugly. But there’s a parchment here.”

Hawke skimmed it. “It’s more instructions for making an offering to Dumat. ‘Raise your face and hands to the skies and speak these words: O Dumat! O Lord of Silence! Accept these sacrifices made in your name! Grant us your power, and all that we seek!’“ She picked the dagger up with two fingers. “Why is it everything to do with the Old Gods look like it was deliberately designed to look evil?”

They came to another bridge, leading back to the tower, and Hawke could see the glow of the next seal. Anders twitched again. “There’s more darkspawn around here, but I’m not getting enough to know where.”

The screech of metal on stone made everyone flinch as a genlock pushed a massive spiked tower shield taller than itself along the floor, and Hawke grabbed Merrill and ducked out of the way as the genlock charged. Everyone else followed suit.

Everyone but Carver, who set his feet and stood his ground. The genlock charged closer, and Hawke saw a smirk flit across Carver’s face before he pivoted on his heel and swung out of the way, his greatsword looping around in a heavy arc and slamming into the back of the genlock’s neck as it passed by. The genlock came to a halt, the shield tipped forward with an enormous crash, and the genlock’s head bounced along the floor as Carver wiped down the blade.

“Impressive,” Fenris commented, nudging past Varric.

“You’ve taken to life as a Warden,” Anders remarked. “I figured you for the type.”

“I’m not the coward you are, if that’s what you mean,” Carver said haughtily.

“The plight of every mage is my burden. You’d think with your lineage, you’d understand.”

“Your whining ranks a little lower than the end of the bloody world. But do go on. And on.”

Anders scowled. “Is it wrong to want a world _worth_ saving?”

Hawke sidled between them. “Both good points. But not now, all right?”

There was a moment’s silence, before Carver nodded, taking up his sword again. “Well, _I’m_ glad you found a place with the Wardens,” Aveline said.

“Well, it’s not the city guard, but it’ll do.”

“Carver…it wasn’t the place for you.”

“No, it’s all right,” Carver said. “It is. It cost a lot, but I get it. I really was a bit of a tit those days, wasn’t I?”

Aveline winced. “Well...”

Varric nodded. “No shit.”

“Insufferable,” Fenris added.

Isabela rolled her eyes. “Legendary.”

“Maker, yes,” Anders said.

“I’ve heard as much,” Sebastian admitted.

“Traitors, all of you,” Carver groused.

“Don’t worry, we love you anyway,” Hawke said. There was a roar, and Hawke flinched as an ogre emerged from the seal room. Hawke rolled to the side as the ogre charged, blowing it off the bridge with a blast of force as it passed by. The ogre roared until it hit the ground below with a sickening crunch that echoed off the walls of the chasm.

Carver sniffed. “Showoff.”

“Runs in the family,” Hawke said with a wink.

The next binding broke easily, and hacked it apart as quickly as they could. Hawke threw the staff into the circle, remembering to close her eyes to avoid getting blinded by the power draining from the lyrium torches into the staff. The staff returned to her hand when the seal broke, and Hawke tossed the staff from hand to hand, shaking her head. “Hot?” Merrill asked.

“A bit,” Hawke said. “And it’s getting _stronger_.”

“I’m not listening…” Anders hissed. “I’m not listening!”

“Anders? Anders!” Carver shook his head. “Maker, it’s like he doesn’t even hear me.”

Isabela put a hand on his arm. “Easy. Hold it together. Deep breaths.” Anders’ eyes flicked around wildly before focusing on hers, and he nodded.

They ran into Larius again while crossing the bridge from the seal tower to the other side of the chasm. “He is waking,” the man warned. “The magic grows lax. He feels us walk where no step goes.”

“You’re talking about Corypheus?” Hawke asked.

“He calls, like an Old God,” Larius whispered. “He mimics their cry.”

“Can the rest of you hear him?” Anders asked. “I figured it was just me.”

“He calls them to free him,” Larius explained. “The dark children, and the light, any with Taint in their blood.”

“If Corypheus isn’t an Old God, what is he?” Hawke asked. “Human? Demon? Darkspawn?”

“More than darkspawn, more than human,” Larius said. “He thinks, he talks, he pierces the Veil.”

“You’re talking about an awakened darkspawn,” Carver realized. “The Wardens have only encountered them once.”

“More than once,” Anders replied. “Did they not tell you _anything_ in Ansburg?” He shook his head. “That’s the Wardens, always so sure of everything.”

“He wants what was once his,” Larius said.

“How could Corypheus be sending people after me if he’s asleep?” Hawke asked pointedly.

“He can call, dream, but not know. When the seals are gone, he will wake. And he must die. I will meet you ahead.” He vanished into the darkness again, and when Hawke tried to follow, she found he had vanished.

“How come you never get lost?” Merrill asked.

“I do, sometimes,” Hawke admitted.

“I’ve never seen it! And everybody follows you, and you always seem to know where you’re going.”

“Just act like you know where you’re going, that’s usually enough.”

“I try that sometimes! But there’s no amount of confidence that makes up for walking into the Grand Cleric’s airing cupboard.”

“What about that time I led us in circles around the Wounded Coast for three hours?” Hawke asked.

“Oh! I thought you were just admiring the view!” She shrugged. “Eh, it was a lovely day at least.”

Sebastian coughed as they kept moving. “Merrill, could I ask you a question?”

“Of course, Sebastian.”

The rogue seemed to be considering the question. “What do the Dalish teach about the creation of the darkspawn? I mean, the Chant of Light says it was the hubris of magisters trying to compete with the Maker. But you don’t believe in the Chant of Light…or the Maker. What do you believe?”

“Well, we don’t get into many details, but we’re pretty sure it’s the humans’ fault.” After a brief pause as the torches flickered in the draft, she went on. “It’s a good thing you’re here, Sebastian.”

“Oh? Why do you say that?”

“You’re so shiny! Much better than a torch.”

Isabela sniggered. Sebastian sighed. “I did swear an oath to carry the Light of the Maker wherever I go. Grand Cleric Elthina will be so proud.” At that, Varric let out a bark of laughter.

“You know, Choir Boy, I wouldn’t normally say this, but the shiny white armor? It works for you.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “That’s uncharacteristically kind of you, Varric.”

Varric nodded. “Makes you look like a lacquered pilot whale.”

“Ah, now that was much more in-character.”

“I’ve heard rumors about Starkhaven, you know,” Varric said. “They say you eat the dead up there. And murder strangers in the street.”

“Why do I suspect that when you say you’ve ‘heard’ rumors, you mean you’ve invented some?” Sebastian asked.

“Six of one, half-dozen of another.”

—ROTC—

_The Warden’s Prison  
The Grey Wardens’ prison in the Vimmark Mountains is believed to have been constructed more than a thousand years ago. The original method of construction has been lost to history, but the Warden-Commanders of the Free Marches have maintained the prison’s secret through the centuries._

_The prison is concealed in a great rift in the Vimmark Mountains, far from any easily-traveled mountain passes. The Wardens themselves have spread rumors of banditry and beasts to prevent explorers from approaching._

_The prison consists of a central tower built into the rift with magically-maintained bridges allowing access at different levels. Each level is sealed by a blood magic ritual in which a mage of untainted blood uses his own life essence to create a magical barrier that is permeable from the outside yet impenetrable from within. This one-way access has caused other darkspawn—and perhaps unwary travelers—to be caught within the prison’s confines. Those who disappear inside never re-emerge._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	25. Legacy, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so this chapter is un-edited. Please excuse any typos.
> 
> Part of the delay for this chapter was a snowballing parade of fuckups that resulted in me not only accidentally wiping out my backup while I tried to update it, but then proceeding to fuck up my computer to the point I needed to reformat the entire thing. That would not normally be THAT big a problem, as I keep two separate backups for pretty much this precise situation, but unfortunately they was far enough out of date that I lost the two most recent chapters of this (including what you see below) and two other projects. After I stopped screaming, I rewrote what I could.

_The Hawke’s Key  
The key is, and always will be, part of the cage that holds Corypheus. The prison’s power is tied to that of the key; as the power of one waxes, the other wanes._

_The key’s origins are lost to time. All we know is that it is an ancient, powerful weapon. The Wardens of old uncovered a few of its secrets—just enough to draw upon its magic to create the seals that hold Corypheus._

_Accounts indicate that the key attunes itself to whichever man or woman wields it in the rituals that reinforce Corypheus’s chains. It is the nature of the magic, something in the blood. The key is currently attuned to one Malcolm Hawke, the last mage to hold it._

_The key is an essential part of strengthening the seals, and also the only thing that can break Corypheus free._

_—From Janeka’s research notes_

—ROTC—

“What was your father like?” Anders asked as they descended another set of stairs.

“A good man, patient,” Hawke said. “He never yelled, but you knew when he was disappointed. He would make everything a joke. He knew that you could teach people better by making them laugh instead of just lecturing. But he knew the risks were real for my sister and I once our magic showed, and while he never pushed us too hard, he made plenty sure we could handle our magic.” Hawke glanced down, biting her lip momentarily. “I miss him a lot.”

“You and Bethany were lucky. Most mages would kill to have what you had. At the Circle, any accidental babies are taken away before the mother even sees them.”

“That’s horrible. And the Chantry says it’s all about protecting families.”

Merrill giggled. “You’re not going to say anything?”

“No!” Isabela said quietly. “And don’t you say anything either! I want to see how long it takes her to notice…”

Hawke stopped. “I’m right here, you know. What are you going on about?”

Merrill gestured at her own nose. “You have a bit of…something…on your nose there.”

“What?” Hawke squawked, her eyes crossing as she looked at her own nose. “How long has it been there?” She scrubbed at her face.

“Oh, now you’ve gone and ruined it,” Isabela sighed.

“We passed another broken pillar,” Varric called. “You know what that means.”

“Everyone take a drink!” Isabela said.

Anders shuddered. “The last time I played this game, I kissed an ogre. Please, let’s not go there again.”

The stairs ended at the bottom of the chasm. Dim light filtered down from above, half-illuminating their surroundings. Mist clung low to the ground, the stench of rot thick enough to gag on. The base of the massive tower that emerged from the chasm aboveground was visible in the distance.

There was a scrabbling noise ahead, and Hawke squinted as she saw several small chicken-like figures running away. “What…what are those?”

“Deepstalkers,” Anders supplied. “Cave creatures.”

“Stinky, foul little things,” Carver added. “Not bad eating in a pinch, though.”

The deepstalkers attacked them in a pack not far from where Hawke first spotted them, but despite their speed and small size they were easy enough to kill.

They found a dead dwarf nearby. Surprisingly, it wasn’t wearing the same leather armor as the Carta dwarves they had encountered before. “That looks like Legion of the Dead armor,” Varric said. “It’s an Orzammar thing. No matter your crime, if you join the Legion and vow to die fighting darkspawn, your name is cleared.”

“I had a friend from the Legion once,” Anders commented. “A girl named Sigrun. Not nearly as dour as you’d expect.”

Hawke picked up the dead Legionnaire’s journal. “It’s ironic,” she read aloud. “Hearing of Tethras Garen’s crime first gave me the courage to confess my own and join the Legion of the Dead. Knowing that a Paragon’s son could give in to the same base passions as a mere merchant, commit a murder even fouler than mine. Yet he was sentenced to die in the Deep Roads for murdering his sister, not even offered the chance at the Legion. I am grateful every day for what the Legion gave me: a family, a purpose, and my name is clear. So when the Paragon learned that the Carta were responsible for the murder, not his son, I was the first to volunteer to retrieve the prince. It’s not right that he should be the only one who doesn’t know he’s been exonerated.”

“The Legion of the Dead, sent after Paragon Garen’s heir,” Varric said. “Why does that sound familiar? I think Garen was sometime in the early Exalted Age. Hundreds of years ago.”

“Tethras Garen,” Hawke said. “Relative of yours?”

Varric shrugged. “Could be.”

They found another dead Legionnaire not far away, on the bank of the pool of stagnant water that had gathered in the bottom of the chasm. His journal was soggy and the writing blurred, but Hawke was able to decipher it. “Paragon Garen refuses to give up. We’re the eighth Legion unit he’s sent after Tethras in the past five years. None dare tell him that after so long alone in the Deep Roads, Tethras is certainly dead. The Paragon insists he will see his heir restored to his rightful place. May the ancestors favor his cause. We’ve followed the paths of the other Legionnaires, and so far, we seem to be on the right trail. We’re in a section of the Deep Roads that appears to have been altered by human magic, so perhaps we’ll find some new clue here. We’re going in tomorrow. Ancestors be with us.”

“That’s where I know the name!” Varric said. “Tethras Garen should have been the heir to the Garen clan. But he was accused of killing his sister and sent into the Deep Roads to die. When the real murderer was caught, they tried to find him. They never could. Instead, every Garen heir from that time on took the name Tethras in his honor. One of them became a Paragon in his own right and founded my clan.”

“So this _was_ one of your ancestors?” Hawke asked.

“Not directly, but a little closer than I like to come to my past, you know.”

More darkspawn were up ahead, and Merrill called down a firestorm, fetid steam rising into the air as the edges touched the water on either side of the path. The party fell back and let it burn itself out, a single charred hurlock staggering forward until Varric put a bolt through its face.

“I hope nothing’s going to jump out of that stuff,” Varric said as they picked their way past the scorched remains along the bank. “How about some sympathy for the one who’s closest to the ground, here?”

Anders groaned as his next step squelched. “This is much…wetter, than I remember the Deep Roads.”

“And you’ve all been wondering why I don’t wear pants,” Isabela said. “So much less toxic goo to clean off.”

Sebastian sighed. “I should have thought of that.”

“It’s not like I change my clothing every time I go home, like Hawke does,” Isabela said.

“You don’t look very happy down here,” Sebastian remarked.

“I’m a pirate, sweetheart,” Isabela groused. “I belong on the open sea, not squished under a thousand tons of rock.”

“It’s an adventure. Don’t pirates like adventures?”

“Only if they end with a gallon of rum and a new bed to plunder.”

“Well, there’s treasure here,” Sebastian pointed out. “Pirates like treasure, right?”

Isabela grunted. “That’s just what we use to keep score.”

Hawke found a ritual scroll and urn to match the dagger and crown, and found the altar intended for the ritual not far from that.

“Don’t even think about making a sacrifice here, Hawke,” Fenris warned as they approached the altar. “Whatever happens, I promise it won’t be good.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but... Fenris is right,” Anders said.

“So what do we do with it?” Hawke asked.

Fenris paused. “Set it on fire?” He suggested.

“Sounds good to me!” Hawke lobbed the ritual items into a pile in front of the altar and followed Anders’ instructions on how to cast a grease spell. One spark later, the altar went up in flames.

Almost immediately, Hawke felt the Veil warp and give way, and several shades and a pair of Rage demons burst from the fire. Putting them down was the work of an entertaining few minutes, and they quenched the fire and moved on.

There was a final dead Legionnaire not far from the now-desecrated altar, and Hawke found his notes. “This place is cursed. For ten years, Paragon Garen has been sending Legionnaires to search out our lost heir. Now I know what’s become of them. There’s no way out. This is no normal part of the Deep Roads. There’s lyrium worked into the walls, into the Stone itself, some kind of human magic. From the outside, it looks like just another tunnel, but walk in and it’s a prison. There is no way past the barriers, no way forward, no way back. But the trap remains open to every beast, darkspawn, and dwarf that wanders in. My brothers in the Legion have died, and I have done my best to lay their spirits to rest in the Stone. I am the last. There will be no one to do the same for me, or for Tethras, if he too was snared by this noose. For you, my prince, I wish you the Stone’s blessing.” She peered closer at the notes. “There’s a dwarven blessing here.” She read it off for the dead dwarf.

“Among the People, we bury our dead, not burn them,” Merrill said. “This must be the dwarven way.”

Aveline had been glancing over at Merrill repeatedly over the past several minutes. Finally, she nudged the elf gently. “Are you all right, Merrill?”

The elf raised her eyebrows. “I’m perfectly fine. Why?”

Aveline shrugged. “We’re quite deep. I’m told dwarves don’t do well when they first come to the surface. I wondered if elves felt similar underground.”

Merrill gave her a blank look. “It’s a ceiling. We have ceilings.”

The guard captain cleared her throat. “Right, right.”

“Nice,” Hawke stage-whispered. “Now ask if she’s afraid of shoes.”

Aveline’s gauntlet smacked against the pauldron of Hawke’s mantle. “You shut it.”

A moment later, Merrill groaned. “Ugh. I think I stepped in something again.”

Isabela sighed. “I keep telling you Kitten, get a pair of proper boots. Like mine!”

The elf shook her head. “I can’t. I just can’t. Your boots go on forever. I’d get so lost in them. I’ve dropped marbles in. They take an eternity to reach the bottom.”

The rogue stopped and stared at the elf. “_That’s_ the reason I’ve been finding marbles in my boots?”

“Um. No. I’m just rambling. Look, a rock!”

They crossed what may have been a bridge across the lake of muck, closing on the tower itself, and happened upon a skeleton in rusted heavy dwarven armor. “No heraldry,” Varric said, scraping some rust off the breastplate. “No smith’s mark. Definitely an exile. I’d bet this is Tethras Garen.”

Hawke fished out the notes, reading the blessing off as smoothly as she could. “_Atrast tunsha. Totarnia amgetol tavash aeduc_.”

“That was sweet, Hawke,” Varric said, genuinely choked up. “Now let’s get out of here before you see me cry.”

The next stretch of the chasm was dark, and Hawke squinted, trying to see the path. “By the Creators, Hawke,” Merrill murmured from behind her, her hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “It’s pitch-black down here.”

“It sure is,” Hawke said, before her mouth spread in an impish smile. “How about we do that _thing_ we practiced?”

Merrill’s hand squeezed on her shoulder. “What are…oh, that!”

“Here?” Isabela asked. “Now?” Hawke could hear Aveline give an exasperated sigh.

“All right,” Hawke said. “On the count of three.”

“What are you talking about?” Fenris asked.

“One…”

“Two…”

“Three!”

“Templars!” Merrill hollered.

“Slavers!” Hawke cried.

“_Where?_” Anders and Fenris both shouted, blue light flooding the darkness.

Hawke collapsed on the ground, laughing hysterically. “That wasn’t particularly funny,” Aveline said sternly.

“I didn’t think that would actually work,” Hawke said, accepting Merrill’s hand up.

There were more darkspawn ahead, and they seemed to be fighting more fiercely as they closed on the tower itself. Whether they were more enraged by Hawke’s progress or were attempting to stall their approach to the tower was unclear.

“Cheer up, Fenris!” Merrill said brightly after they dispatched the latest band of darkspawn to try their luck. “This isn’t so bad!”

“We’re in a black pit full of evil. How can you imagine this ‘isn’t so bad?’”

“It’s not going to rain,” Merrill pointed out. “And there’s almost no chance of being attacked by bears!”

“And we put our lives in your hands,” Fenris said, shaking his head. “Astonishing.”

“Oh, I know. It surprises me, too.”

Hawke retrieved a weathered journal with a griffon seal on the front from the death grip of a skeleton. “Let’s see what your story is.” She flipped the journal open, accumulated dust and dirt falling out as the pages crackled. “The records say Corypheus has been trapped below the Vimmarks since the days of the Tevinter Imperium. Can it be a coincidence that the darkspawn besiege this area more fiercely than anywhere else on the surface of Thedas? Or that Kirkwall, the closest city, suffers from endless plagues of violence, lunacy, human sacrifice, and blood magic?” She paused. “I’m just a country girl. Is Kirkwall unusual in that?”

“Quite unusual, yes,” Isabela said. “Most cities aren’t so…Kirkwall-ish.”

“And the Free Marches have repeatedly been besieged by darkspawn,” Sebastian remarked. “The Second, Third, and Fourth Blights all had a great deal of fighting in the Marches, particularly around Starkhaven and Cumberland.”

Hawke shrugged, continuing to read aloud. “If one studies Kirkwall’s public records, it becomes hard to deny that some malevolent force has long shaped its history. Could a darkspawn, even a powerful mage, have such influence even as it slumbers?” She closed the journal. “Could this Corypheus truly have such influence, even imprisoned?”

“I…_am_ hearing something,” Anders admitted.

“I’m not,” Carver replied.

“And I’m a great deal more Tainted than you are,” Anders said irritably. “Join during a Thaw Hunt and see how many darkspawn _you_ have to deal with on a daily basis.”

The third seal was in a small structure near the base of the tower, and another Pride demon that required killing. As Hawke retrieved her newly-empowered staff, Anders collapsed to his knees. “No! Get out of my head!”

“We have to do something,” Aveline said. “His episodes are getting worse.”

“Come on, Blondie,” Varric urged. “You’re strong enough to overcome this.”

“Stop! Just make him stop talking!” Anders pleaded. “Make him stop!”

“It’s Corypheus,” Carver realized. “He can hear Corypheus.”

Isabela prodded his shoulder. “Anders? Shit, it’s this place isn’t it? It’s driving him mad.”

“I will not…” Anders threw his head back, blue light streaming from his eyes and mouth. “_be controlled!_” He drew his staff, only to gasp and stumble back as Hawke whacked him in the face with the heavy end of the Key. Anders doubled over as she followed up with a crossways strike to the gut, following up with a downward two-handed strike over the head. Anders hit the dirt like a sack of potatoes, and as he pushed himself up on his elbows, Hawke readied her staff for another strike until he held a hand out. “I’m all right, I’m all right!”

“I can’t take you _anywhere_,” Hawke sighed. “Sorry about ringing your bell like that.”

“I guess they’re right,” Anders rasped, sitting up. “You never can leave the Wardens.” Hawke offered him a hand, pulling him to his feet. “I hope I can hold against him... against them both.”

Hawke wrapped a hand around the back of his head, pulling his forehead against hers. “We’re going to get you through this, Anders!”

“Let’s move,” Aveline urged. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

“It’s our duty to tell the Templars,” Sebastian said quietly to Fenris.

“Then why haven’t you done it?”

“I guess I was hoping they’d come to it on their own,” Sebastian admitted.

“And then you wouldn’t have to betray Hawke’s friends, right?”

“That’s not reason enough to allow a maleficar to walk free,” Sebastian argued. “Which of us should do it? Shall we draw lots?”

Fenris shook his head. “You want to turn them in, you work it out with Hawke.”

They all staggered as the ground shook. “Oh, _now what_,” Hawke groaned.

“He feels the seals weaken,” Larius warned, coming out of the shadows. “He knows you are close. You must be ready…” His head snapped up, and he looked towards the tower. “No, no! They are here!”

“Who is ‘they?’” Hawke asked. “The Carta? Or are you hearing something else?”

“No, worse. More treacherous, more dangerous. The Wardens! They listen to Corypheus. They want to bring him the light. Stop them. You must stop them.” He hurried back into the darkness as four Wardens emerged from a doorway.

“You know this lot?” Hawke asked quietly.

Carver shook his head. “Looks like they’re from the Tantervale outpost, not Ansburg. They use the griffon sigils more than we do.”

The leader was a middle-aged woman with striking green eyes. “Something’s happening,” she was saying. “The prison’s breaking down, but it’s stood up to tunneling before. What can…” she trailed off as she spotted Hawke. Her jaw dropped as she saw the staff in Hawke’s hand. “You! You have the Key! And you’ve come through the seals, but how...” Her eyes narrowed, and realization bloomed in her expression. “Champion? Are you the one? The same Hawke, child of Malcolm?”

“You know an awful lot about me,” Hawke said warily.

“The Carta said they were close,” the Warden said. “You must be her. I am Janeka. I lead this unit of Grey Wardens.”

“Why do you care about Hawke’s father?” Merrill asked.

“I’m rather curious myself,” Carver said. “Senior Warden, why are you interested in our father?”

“Then you don’t know?” Janeka looked baffled. “Without Malcolm, this prison would have fallen thirty years ago.”

“And I’m guessing it had something to do with this thing?” Hawke asked, lifting the Key.

“The Grey Wardens built this prison to contain one of the most powerful darkspawn we’ve ever encountered,” Janeka explained. “But even the best magic fades. The Wardens need to reinforce the seals. This requires the blood of a mage untainted by…Warden training. The last to perform the ritual was your father.”

“Why do my family stories never involve embarrassing vacations in Antiva?” Hawke sighed. “That’s why the Carta came after me, isn’t it?”

“We need your help, Hawke,” Janeka said. “I have done extensive research on this darkspawn and I believe the original Wardens were wrong. He isn’t a threat to humanity – he’s our greatest opportunity. A darkspawn who can talk, feel, reason…”

“Is a bigger threat than any other,” Anders finished. “I’ve run into one before. You don’t deal with them. You kill them. Thoroughly.”

“You’re Anders, aren’t you?” Janeka’s lip curled. “Warden-Commander Amell might have ordered that you be left alone, but to us you’re nothing but a deserter. Don’t push your luck.”

“Corypheus cares nothing for Blights!” Larius spat from the shadows. “He used you!”

“The Warden-Commander,” one of the Tantervale Wardens gasped as Larius emerged.

“Don’t listen to this...creature!” Janeka ordered. “He’s half-darkspawn himself! I know how to harness Corypheus, use his magic to end the Blights. He is no mindless monster. This search for the Old Gods comes at a terrible cost to his people.”

“No, the Wardens knew,” Larius insisted. “Corypheus is too powerful.”

Hawke snorted. “And none of the Wardens ever tried to control him? To ‘harness’ him? Every idiot thinks they’re the first one to come up with a great idea.”

“Corypheus calls her, and she listens,” Larius said. “She brought the Carta, sent them for you.”

Hawke’s face darkened. “Is that true, _Warden_?”

“Stroud wouldn’t let me have your brother,” Janeka said. “I need you!”

“Why are the Carta on your side?” Hawke demanded.

“I needed their strength and their numbers to release Corypheus,” Janeka said. “I led them to him, showed them where to dig.”

“And were behind the attacks on my family,” Hawke surmised.

“Had I known you would cooperate, I would never have done it.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “I never said I would cooperate.”

“How many people died in Ferelden alone?” Janeka demanded. “And that was the least of the Blights! We could stop it ever happening again!”

“The least of the Blights? How would _you_ know?” Anders asked. “No Marcher came to Ferelden’s aid, during the Blight or during the Thaw. The Orlesians did more than you did.” He shook his head. “Don’t do it, Hawke. The Warden-Commander killed the last of this sort. You can’t make deals with darkspawn.”

“I have no intention of making a ‘deal’ with Corypheus,” Janeka replied coldly. “I intend to bind him to my will.”

“And you’re a bigger idiot than I thought if you believe nobody’s tried it before,” Hawke snapped.

“He has used you, Janeka,” Larius said. “He speaks to you, and you believe his ideas are yours.” He turned to the Wardens with Janeka. “Dursten, has sense deserted you as well? Alec? Roland? I led you. Who do you serve?”

Slowly, the Wardens joined Larius. “We’re with you, Commander,” Alec said.

“You _bastards_,” Janeka sneered.

“Corypheus may be a threat as great as a Blight. We can’t risk freeing him,” Hawke said.

“I’ll find a way to do this with or without you, Hawke,” Janeka warned. “This prison will be broken! The Blights will end!” There was a blinding flash of light, and everyone flinched. When Hawke’s vision cleared, Janeka was gone, a fire blocking pursuit.

“We’ll have to beat her to the seal,” Larius said.

“I told the Warden-Commander in Amaranthine not to make deals with darkspawn,” Anders sighed. “I guess these Free Marchers needed the same advice.”

They quenched the fire and ascended the tower. Larius paused at a strange contraption mounted on the wall. “This was part of the prison’s defenses from centuries ago.”

“Defenses?” Hawke echoed. “Anything we could use?”

“Old wards, unstable. Dangerous. The Wardens had them neutralized.”

“Bottom-line it for me,” Hawke said. “Will bringing them back online stall Janeka?” Larius nodded shakily, and Hawke charged a bolus of magic, sinking it into the power node. There was a rumbling as the power shifted, and Hawke felt a tingle of magic surge in the air.

“That makes my teeth itch,” Varric said. “Let’s go.”

They crossed a crumbling bridge to a room full of the power nodes, and Larius held up a hand. “Do not touch anything! The old defenses are active again. Very unpredictable, very dangerous.”

So naturally, that was when a handful of dwarves rushed through another door. One pointed at them. “There! That’s the one Janeka wants dead!”

“Oh, I don’t have _time_ for this,” Hawke groaned, drawing her staff.

“We may die here, but we will take you with us,” The leader replied. Hawke’s lightning bolt missed him as he dove for one of the power nodes, shoving it out of place.

“No!” Larius shouted. “Don’t!”

“To arms!” shouted the dwarf leader as the magic in the room went wild. “And pray that Corypheus honors our sacrifice!”

It was a quick, brutal fight, Hawke’s party now numbering thirteen against a handful of dwarves. “Trapped,” Larius hissed when they finished off the dwarves, angrily flinging a Carta dagger against a magic barrier over the exit. “Carta fools, always where they don’t belong. This shouldn’t have happened.”

Hawke was looking at the nodes, seeing the streams of magic linking one to the next. “We’ll find a way out.” She pointed. “Anders, there’s the break. You see it?”

“Yeah,” Anders said in confusion. “And what exactly do you want me to do about it?”

“Go to that column. These racks of power nodes rotate. Turn it until the streams connect.”

Unfortunately, that broke a different stream. “Ugh, why does it always have to be so complicated?” Varric complained. “Can’t Aveline just bash through the wall?”

Aveline looked over from rotating another column’s rack. “Very funny, Varric.”

“There is more to this place than the seals,” Dursten explained. “Every inch of this labyrinth is a trap.”

“What’s wrong with this place?” Isabela asked. “Why don’t they have one decent regular lock to pick. No, it’s got to be all magic and blowy lights.”

It took precious minutes to get the puzzle worked out, and Hawke took off at a run as the barrier opened. More Carta were ahead, obviously sent by Janeka. “So long since I’ve been this deep, but I remember every step taken with the other Hawke,” Larius mumbled as they regrouped.

“The other Hawke?” Carver echoed.

“The elder Hawke,” Larius said. “The mage.”

“The seals are weakening, they said. Malcolm Hawke was chosen. A good man, but an apostate. Yes, I was here with him. The Hawke was fascinated by the old construction,” Larius said. “Always stopping to examine the carvings. A learned man. Weeks down here, working together. He never liked me. Too much bad blood…”

“Bad blood?” Hawke asked. Larius looked away and shook his head.

They caught up to Janeka ahead. She was waiting for them, a trio of golems frozen in place behind her. “Did you really think those old wards would stop me?”

“No further!” Larius shouted.

“No further?” Janeka mocked. “Look at you, barely able to string two thoughts together. You’ve only made it this far because of Hawke.”

“You can still turn away,” Larius urged. “Do not listen to his voice!”

“You’re a fool, Larius, and you should have died here years ago. I will reach Corypheus, and I will harness his power.” She raised a rod, and Anders groaned. “Your path ends here!” The golems came to life, and Janeka fled deeper into the labyrinth.

The party divided up – the Tantervale Wardens took one as Fenris, Aveline, Anders, and Isabela took another. Hawke, Carver, Sebastian, Varric, and Merrill fell on the last golem. Most of the next few minutes was filled with ducking, dodging, and fleeing from the golems while the others attacked the giant stone warriors as best they could.

When the last one fell, Hawke looked over, seeing two of the Wardens laying on the floor. “Dursten and Roland are dead,” Alec said softly. “All because of Janeka’s madness.”

“They will be remembered,” Larius promised. “We must stop Janeka!” They hustled up the seemingly endless stairs, Larius grumbling the whole way. “Such a fool! She hears his voice and thinks it her own!”

At the top of the last staircase they found themselves emerging onto the surface, the sun having set while they were underground. They had reached the top of the central tower, and only a single bridge separated them from where the griffons and dwarven statues they had seen before surrounded the final seal.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Varric said, panting.

“What’s so nice about it?” Hawke asked.

“I was just wondering what some place sinister and foreboding would look like, and here it is.”

Hawke could see the streams of magic coming from the griffons’ mouths, flowing inwards towards the seal in the center.

Janeka was waiting for them. “You can’t stop me, Larius,” she said. “The Wardens will see I’m right about this. With Corypheus’s power, we can end the Blights forever. Hand over Hawke, and I’ll give you a quick death.”

“Corypheus is _using_ you,” Larius urged. “Can’t you see that?”

Janeka ignored him. “I cannot understand how you can oppose me,” she said, looking at Hawke. “Your own sister died at the hands of the darkspawn.”

There was a creaking noise as Hawke’s fists clenched on the Key. “I am going to shove this _all the way up your ass_,” she threatened.

“Hawke has made her choice,” Larius said. “The right one.”

“The right choice, or the only choice?” Janeka asked pointedly. “Malcolm Hawke was not allowed to disagree.”

“It is the past,” Larius said. “It doesn’t matter!”

Hawke was still glaring at Janeka, but pointedly took a step to the side, away from Larius and Alec. “What does Janeka mean by ‘not allowed?’”

“Malcolm Hawke was reluctant, had to be…persuaded,” Larius confessed. “I was Warden-Commander. It was my duty. I delivered an ultimatum. Help us, or you’ll never see her again.”

“You did _what_?” Carver demanded.

“You were going to kill our mother?” Hawke asked.

“No, never,” Larius insisted. “He came with us. I never had to decide her fate. And she was never told about what passed between Malcolm and me.”

“That doesn’t excuse it!” Carver cried indignantly.

“You see, Hawke?” Janeka said. “How can you trust anything Larius says?”

“He’s a right bastard, but that doesn’t make you any less crazy,” Hawke replied. “He’s still right about Corypheus, and I can tell when I’m being manipulated.”

“You can come willingly or not, Hawke,” Janeka said, drawing her staff. “I just need your blood.”

“And that’s _quite_ enough out of you,” Hawke sighed, punching Janeka into the air with a blast of force, then catching her in midair with a lateral pulse, sending her flying off the tower. Her screams echoed off the chasm walls until after she hit the ground far below.

“He stirs,” Larius warned as Hawke looked at the final seal. “Slay him now, before he wakes. Before his strength comes. The Key is not strong enough. You must use your blood. Free him and slay him.”

The binding magic coming from the griffon statues had to be carefully neutralized, one at a time.

“I suppose he won’t stop coming after us unless we do this,” Carver said as the first of the four spells dissipated.

“Probably not,” Hawke admitted. “If you like, we could leave a strongly worded note on his sarcophagus and go.” Carver rolled his eyes.

“You feel that?” Varric said as they neutralized the second spell. “It’s like something is…lifting.”

“Not to be a fussbudget, but is this really a good idea?” Isabela asked as the third spell came down.

“It takes Hawke blood to open his prison,” Hawke said. “Carver’s right. He won’t stop until he has what he wants.”

“It still seems like a bad idea,” Fenris replied.

“It is. This is going to get rough,” Hawke warned as the last spell dissipated.

Hawke stood over the seal, drawing her dagger and pressing the edge against the flesh of her arm. “Just…be careful, Dana,” Carver said softly.

Hawke took a steadying breath, before opening a cut on her arm, letting the blood drip to the seal. The seal lit up, and she could feel the magic unraveling like a cheap sweater and backed up, hurriedly healing the wound on her arm.

A long, skeletal figure floated upwards from the seal, and as it turned Anders flinched and Hawke grimaced.

Corypheus had a face even a mother would think twice about. His face and limbs were gaunt and stretched, and Hawke spotted what looked like chunks of stone erupting through the skin of his face and head. His limbs were emaciated, and ragged finery and a crumbling breastplate covered the majority of his body.

“That’s _not _a darkspawn,” Anders said. “It’s Tainted, yes. But it’s not an ordinary darkspawn.”

“I think we got that idea,” Isabela replied, looking vaguely green.

Then the creature spoke. Intelligibly, no less. His voice was gravelly, but understandable. “Be this some dream I wake from? Am I in dwarven lands?”

“Oh great,” Anders sighed. “Another talking one.”

There was a long pause as everyone stared at him. Hawke finally found her voice. “What? Is this normal for you or something?”

“Well, the last two I met had eight breasts and a nicer hat, respectively, but yes.”

This pause was even longer. Hawke was vaguely aware of the darkspawn saying something.

“Anders,” Hawke said flatly. “_What the fuck_.”

“Do not ignore me!” Corypheus bellowed.

“Eh? All right.”

“Bring me to the temple of Dumat! I must speak with the first acolyte!”

“There haven’t been temples to Dumat since ancient Tevinter,” Anders said softly. “Dumat was the first Old God to become an Archdemon. That’s…_over a thousand years ago_.”

“You look human,” Corypheus went on. “Are you not citizens of the Empire? Slaves then, to the dwarves? Why come you here? Whoever you be, you owe fealty to any magister of Tevinter. On your knees! All of you!”

Hawke stared him down. “You’ve been asleep for a long time, but I’m guessing the idea of ‘shove it up your ass and twirl it around’ has been around long enough for you to get the hint.”

Corypheus’s eyes narrowed. Or maybe just one did. The other was too blurred to really tell. “You are what held me. I smell the blood in you.” He turned away, raising his voice and his arms. “Dumat! Lord! Tell me! What waking dream is this?” He lowered his arms, apparently as memories returned. “The light. We sought the golden light. You offered…the powers of the gods themselves. But it was black…_corrupt_. Darkness ever since. How long?”

Larius whispered. “The Golden City. The first violation. The magisters who brought the Blight.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Anders said. “There were no magical bogeymen who trespassed in the Maker’s city. It’s a story. Chantry propaganda.”

“The Chantry would not make such things up!” Sebastian insisted. “The story is true, or as true as we can ever know.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time the Chantry rewrote history,” Anders said. “The darkspawn were no doubt some creation of the Old Gods.”

“Dumat,” Corypheus pleaded. “Have you forsaken me? I am your faithful servant…”

“The darkspawn aren’t just some conveniently explicit lesson on the dangers of magic,” Anders maintained.

“What manner of speech is this?” Corypheus asked. “How long have I slumbered?”

“Let’s just say you won’t be making your dinner reservations,” Hawke replied.

“He tainted the world,” Larius breathed. “He speaks to all who carry the corruption. Darkspawn, Wardens. He brought Janeka here. Brought you…but he slept. While the seals held, he could not wake. He knows nothing of the time that passed. We must kill him _now_.”

“You really think he’s one of the Magisters Sidereal?” Hawke asked incredulously. “That he’s been to the Black City?”

Corypheus’s eyes widened at her words. “The city! It was supposed to be golden! It was supposed to be _ours!_” He raised his arms, floating down from the seal platform to the ground. “If I cannot leave with you, I will leave through you! I seek the light!”

Hawke immediately opened up with the same prison of force she had used to take down the Arishok, pinning Corypheus’s arms to his sides. He bellowed, more in rage than pain, and shattered the magic constricting him. “Oh, _shit_,” Hawke breathed. Larius and Alec fell back beyond the entrance to the final chamber, wary of the oncoming fight.

And then Corypheus was among them, mixing broad and surprisingly powerful swipes of his gaunt arms with heavy blasts of primal magic. Merrill struck him with a lightning bolt square in the back, and Corpyheus all but laughed at the effort. “I am an acolyte of Dumat! You cannot harm me, _rattus_!”

“Anders!” Hawke shouted. “Hit him with whatever you got!”

“I…” Anders raised his staff and paused. “I…” He shook his head. “What is going on here?”

“What are you waiting for?” Hawke cried as Fenris ducked a backhanded swipe from Corypheus and brought his sword around in a blow that would have sheared a man in half. It rebounded from Corypheus’s battered breastplate, and Fenris’s markings flared blue, allowing Corypheus’s next strike to pass through him harmlessly.

“I don’t know!” Anders said. “I…I can’t do it!”

Carver grabbed Hawke by the shoulder as Sebastian and Varric harried Corypheus with arrows to draw his attention, Isabela darting in and slashing at the backs of his knees. “Dana, I can’t…I’m hesitating.”

Hawke’s eyes darted between him and Anders. “He can influence you? Because you’re Wardens?”

“I think so.”

Hawke threw her head back and screamed a heartfelt expletive. “Then distract him! Both of you!”

“Dumat!” Corpyheus cried. “Grant me your power!”

“Dumat is _dead_!” Hawke shouted, staggering him with a blast of force that dug furrows into the stone beneath their feet. “Get a new god!” She could see magic draining from one of the griffon statues into Corypheus and drew on her mana, slamming the head of the Key into the ground. The entire tower shook, the stone shattering as the balcony the statue was on sheared away and fell into the chasm. Ignoring how much mana she had used in the process, she spun, sending a spear of ice shooting towards Corypheus. “Anders! Can you destroy the other statues?”

“_That_ I can do!”

Corpyheus opened up with blasts of flame, Isabela yelping as her hair singed under the heat. “Burn, you miserable insects!”

Carver came leaping from the side, bellowing a war cry and bringing his sword down on Corypheus’s head. The darkspawn turned, batting him out of the air almost casually as Anders managed to destroy the second statue.

“_Carver!_” Hawke shouted.

Corypheus had Carver by the neck, lifting him off the ground and peering at him closely. “I sense the darkness in you, boy,” he rasped. “What are you?”

“Let him go, you _filth_,” Hawke spat, grasping the Key with both hands like a cudgel and landing a perfect swing into the back of Corypheus’s head. Corypheus was tough, but he hadn’t expected to be struck upside the head in that fashion, and Carver hit the ground hard, coughing and crawling for distance. Anders and Merrill’s combined earthquake spells broke the stone balcony holding the third statue, and Hawke unleashed a spray of spirit bolts, less to do damage than to dazzle Corpyheus and keep him occupied while Carver got clear.

It worked. Corypheus turned on her, power flaring in his hands as Carver pushed himself to his feet and staggered away. “Perhaps a little something more!”

Hawke shielded herself from a blast of lightning, returning a stream of miniature fireballs that blanketed the area Corypheus was standing in, bringing a pained screech from him. “I hope you’re bringing more to the fight than that!”

“Silence, you worm!”

“Your tricks are out of date!” Hawke taunted, casually shielding herself from another bolt. “No creativity! No finesse! No _style_! I’ve fought things you could _respect_!” She caught him with an uppercut blast of force, snapping his head back and sending a cloud of blood and teeth flying from his mouth. Hawke spun the Key, setting his tattered and smoldering robes alight with a stream of fire.

Corypheus ignored the flames, mustering power, and Hawke hit him square in the gut with a focused blast of force, dropping him to his knees. He looked up, and past her, before Hawke gathered what was left of her mana and hit him square in the jaw with a final blast of force. There was a nauseating crunch, and as the corpse hit the floor Hawke took a grim satisfaction in having managed to not only snap Corypheus’s neck, but twist the head through a complete revolution.

Hawke huffed out a satisfied breath, and then keeled over backwards. Carver was at her side in seconds, followed closely by the others. “Easy,” Carver said. “You won. You got him.”

“Lyrium,” Hawke rasped. “Got no mana left.” Anders fished out a potion, and Hawke downed it shakily, breathing easier. “Anyone hurt?”

Anders shook his head. “Isabela picked up a few burns, but I’ve seen to her already. Carver’s got some bruises. The others are fine.”

Hawke leaned her head back against Carver’s chest. “Good. I just…I need a minute to catch my breath.”

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” Carver said.

“What doesn’t kill me should have tried harder the first time,” Hawke replied.

“You did well, Hawke,” Larius said. His voice was steady and clear. “More than the Grey Wardens of old were able to accomplish. Alec and I will tell the Warden-Commander of your service here.”

“I’d be careful,” Carver warned. “We don’t usually come back from the Calling.”

“I must try,” Larius said. “You’ve gained an ally today, Hawke.”

“You seem different,” Anders replied.

“My head is clear, now,” Larius said. “Without Corypheus’s call, I can think again. I thank you for my freedom.”

Hawke shook her head. “The Wardens won’t thank me for the deaths of their own.”

“Janeka ignored the Warden-Commander’s express orders when she sought to free Corpyheus,” Alec replied. “We’ll square it with them.”

“The prison stands no more,” Larius said, turning to leave. “My gratitude you have, for my freedom.”

A few minutes later, Hawke stood, tilting her head and examining Corypheus’s corpse. “I still don’t quite buy that this was one of the magisters who invaded the Golden City,” she said. “Anders? Carver? Maybe he’s got something on him? A magister membership token or something?”

Anders quickly checked the body over, frowning as he pulled an amulet free. “No one’s used this pattern since before the First Blight,” he said. “I mean…”

“Well, that dates him to at least after that,” Hawke pointed out. “He could easily have gotten the amulet someplace. Don’t darkspawn like to pick up shiny things?”

“Believe me, I would like nothing more than to just assume this was a particularly intelligent darkspawn emissary,” Anders said. “But I’ve seen depictions of these amulets. They were unique to a small sect in Tevinter that worshipped Dumat.” He tilted it, examining it in the dim light. “It looks barely weathered for being so old.” He looked up at Hawke, his eyes wide. “I think…I think he may have actually been an ancient magister. I always thought the Black City was just a story…”

“Corypheus was a few swords short of an armory,” Hawke replied. “It could easily still be just a story. And even if it _is_ true, it doesn’t justify the Chantry punishing mages over a thousand years later.”

“Do you think?” Anders said. “What else might the Chantry know that we don’t?” He rubbed his face. “If Corypheus really was one of _those_ magisters, then…I’ll need to write a letter to the Wardens.”

“Why?” Hawke asked. “I thought you’d left them for good.”

Anders eyed Corypheus’s corpse. “I’ve seen a darkspawn like this before. Ancient, intelligent, and incredibly powerful. It’s possible that there’s more of these out there. Two are accounted for.”

“Accounted for?” Fenris asked darkly.

“Here’s one,” Anders said. “The Warden-Commander beat the other’s head into pulp with his own hands.” Merrill turned vaguely green. “He’ll want to know – _need_ to know that there might be more. I owe him that much.”

“What exactly could the others do?” Hawke asked.

“Besides spread Blight sickness wherever they go?” Carver offered.

“The Architect started the Fifth Blight,” Anders said calmly.

There was a moment’s pause, before everyone started asking questions at once.

—ROTC—

Cassandra gave Varric the gimlet eye. “I said you wouldn’t believe me,” Varric said tiredly.

“When the Seekers arrived at the structure, this prison…it was destroyed,” Cassandra said. “The Grey Wardens were there, but they did not mention this Larius. They claimed everyone was dead.”

“As far as we could tell, everyone was,” Varric replied. “Larius and Alec may have never made it to the Wardens. Both Carver and Hawke herself looked into it. The Grey Wardens wouldn’t acknowledge a Warden named Janeka, a prison in the Vimmarks, a captive darkspawn magister, or ever having worked with Malcolm Hawke. Personally, I’m certain they know something about what happened down there, but whatever it is, they’re not sharing. Hawke mentioned a couple weeks after we got back to Kirkwall that she thought she saw Alec, the other Grey Warden, just walking around Lowtown. She wasn’t sure, but he _was_ wearing Warden armor and it looked like him. He was talking to Samson, that ex-Templar. The two disappeared before she could get closer. Maybe she saw him, maybe it was somebody else. I don’t know.”

“And you admit that the Champion was there, but you claim that she defeated a magister, one of the magisters of old.”

“Left there by the Wardens themselves,” Varric said.

“A curious tale,” Cassandra admitted. “I wonder if there’s more to it.”

“I notice you didn’t ask about the Architect that Anders mentioned,” Varric replied.

“The Seekers have knowledge of this creature and its deeds,” Cassandra said.

Varric grunted. “Very well. We made our way back out of the prison – a much calmer trip, what with everything that could have caused us trouble being dead. We took everything worth taking that wasn’t covered in Taint and made our way back to Kirkwall. Beyond that, it’s just…a small matter. A moment for the last of the family, and an echo.” He leaned forward. “You’ll forgive me if I take a few liberties.”

—ROTC—

Hawke was looking into the fire, whistling an old tune softly.

“What is that song?” Carver asked. “It sounds familiar.” He shook his head. “I can’t place it.”

Hawke smiled to herself. “That’s not surprising. It’s one of the lullabies Mother used to play on the lute for us when we were in the cradle. I used to watch her sing it to you and Bethany. No matter how much you were crying, hearing her sing that would calm you right down.”

“I could use it, right now,” Carver mused. “The attacks, darkspawn, every bloody part of it, all because of what happened years ago. What he did for Mother. For all of us, really. It’s not right that Mother isn’t here to…I don’t know. Just listen, I guess. I want to talk to her.”

“I know it was hard, how much time he had to spend with Bethany and I,” Hawke said softly.

“He started training me too, best he could,” Carver replied. “He was no slouch with a blade. Then I picked up some things from those soldiers who came through. Remember when I beat him? Took the blade clean away.”

“He was holding back,” Hawke chided.

“Yeah, on _magic_,” Carver insisted. “Not the blade. After that…well, he knew I could handle the house while he was off with you two. I suppose I see why he was so concerned.”

“They wouldn’t want us wallowing over what we’ve lost,” Hawke said.

“I don’t think either of them got what they wanted out of this life,” Carver replied.

“I wouldn’t say that. Father got Mother, got to live out his life outside the Circle, and have a family and something close to freedom. Mother got the man she loved, a family who loved her…” Hawke closed her eyes. “And she could have had more.”

Carver put a hand on her shoulder. “She wouldn’t blame you. Father wouldn’t. Bethany wouldn’t. I don’t. Dana, you need to forgive yourself.” Hawke nodded, and he squeezed gently before letting go. “I think it’ll be all right, you know? Not real soon, mind you.”

Hawke laughed. “I suppose it will. Not real soon.”

“I had best be getting back to the Wardens,” Carver said. “Take care.”

“Wait,” Hawke said, vanishing up the stairs. She returned a few moments later, carrying something. “I think…I think you need this more than I do.”

Carver swallowed hard, looking at the strip of fabric. “Bethany’s scarf.”

Hawke nodded. “She’d be so proud of you. So would Mother. And Father. And I’ll deny saying this to anyone who asks, but I’m proud of you too.”

Carver smiled in spite of himself. “Dana, I…”

“Take it,” Hawke urged. “She would want you to have something to remind you of us. All of us.”

Carver reluctantly took the scarf, winding it up and stowing it away carefully. “Thank you. It’s good to remember what we’re fighting for. Be safe.”

As he left, Hawke stared into the fire for a few minutes, before closing her eyes. She could almost hear her mother. “Malcolm would be happy you two aren’t at each other’s throats. Not all the time. He sacrificed so we would have a life free to choose. It must have been a terrible burden.” She could almost see her mother, looking back at her. “Much like the burden you’ve assumed.”

“I do what I can,” Hawke said. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Your father tried to help people the same way,” Leandra replied. “Tried to fix trouble he saw in others. The best of him is still with you. The best of all of us. It’s what makes you try so hard. And you will _always_ have that. We will _always_ be family. It’ll be all right.”

—ROTC—

Hawke found Merrill in her tiny house in the Alienage again. “Hawke! Are we going on another adventure?”

Hawke snorted. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough adventure for a while after that last mess. Demons, darkspawn, magisters…” She shook her head. “But that’s not why I came.”

Merrill tilted her head, blinking curiously at her. “What brings you here, then?”

“My father never quite condemned blood magic, but he certainly wasn’t in favor of it,” Hawke said. “I just…I’m still surprised that he was willing to use it.”

“He wasn’t,” Merrill said. “That Warden was holding your mother hostage. Your father didn’t have a choice.”

“Well, there’s _that_,” Hawke replied. “But he had to learn it from somewhere, didn’t he? One thing he was very clear about was that you don’t make deals with demons, that no spirit belongs in our world because they just can’t handle the difference from the Fade. I mean, you learned blood magic from a spirit, didn’t you?” Merrill nodded. “I’m not going to harass you about that. You’re an adult, you know the risks, you do what you want to do.”

“Hawke,” Merrill said. “Why are you here?”

Hawke closed her eyes for a moment. “Could you teach me blood magic?”

Merrill’s jaw dropped. “You’ve never expressed an interest.”

“Because I never _had_ one,” Hawke said. “But knowing that my father was able to put it to use, that you’ve put it to good use…and Meredith isn’t going to just go away on her own. Things are going to come to a head with the Templars, and I don’t want to be caught without every weapon I can get my hands on when they do. Most blood mages we’ve seen go insane with power, but you’ve got a different attitude towards it. Whether it’s because you’re coming from the Dalish point of view, where it’s just a different type of magic, or because you don’t use it to hurt people and see it as a tool instead of a weapon, I don’t know. But I need to learn.”

“I can teach you,” Merrill replied. “But the others are going to be very cross when they find out, you know. They really can be quite closed-minded. Not like you.”

“We’ll deal with that when it happens,” Hawke said. “If it happens. I don’t think I’ll ever need to use it, but I’d rather have the knowledge and not need it. If they don’t like it…well, how they treat me is their path. How I react is mine.”

“Is now a good time?” Merrill asked.

“My time is your time.”

—ROTC—

Hawke healed the cuts on the underside of her arm before leaving Merrill’s house, and retrieved a package from her house before heading to Fenris’s mansion.

“I found something you might be interested in,” Hawke said.

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “A blade of mercy? I remember these. You see them in the Imperium. Replicas of the sword Archon Hessarian used to kill Andraste. This one looks finely crafted.”

“Oh.” Hawke tilted her head. “I figured it would just be a nice sword. Is it special?”

“It is. Here, let me show you.” He drew a hand along the flat of the blade, the sword taking on a glow. “These are gifts of honor, given to those who have performed a service for the Imperium. Danarius coveted them, as I recall.”

“Well then, now you can thumb your nose at him by owning one yourself,” Hawke said. “I realize you don’t like to talk about Tevinter much.”

“It’s not a place I remember fondly,” Fenris replied. “Did you wish to know something?”

“It just surprises me that slavery is still legal there,” Hawke remarked. “I mean, there’s rumors of elven slavery in Orlais, and we’ve killed our fair share of slavers here in Kirkwall, but it seems like most of the slaves are all headed to Tevinter.”

“It varies from one archon to the next,” Fenris said. “One outlawed it many years ago. He was quickly assassinated. Tevinter would crumble without slaves. The Imperium’s elite know no other way.”

“So many people assume mages look to Tevinter as an ideal land for mages,” Hawke replied. “Honestly, I’m embarrassed for Tevinter.” Fenris raised an eyebrow silently. “They still rely on slavery when they have access to all kinds of magical innovation. From what you’ve told me, virtually nothing is off-limits. And yet, they still need slaves to get things done. Frankly, as a mage, it’s embarrassing that when people think of mages, they think of _that_.”

“One day, things will change,” Fenris said. “Then the magisters will see just how fragile their hold is.” He turned the sword over. “It is a fine blade. I thank you, Hawke.”

—ROTC—

“So, how’s the most beautiful girl in the world doing?” Hawke asked a few days later.

Isabela didn’t look up from her cards. “I don’t know, how are you?”

Hawke’s voice cracked as she responded. “I’m fine.”

Isabela smirked, laying down her cards. “Show me yours, Kitten.”

Merrill pouted, laying down her own cards. “Here. You win again.”

“I wasn’t talking about your cards,” Isabela said with a wink.

Merrill sighed. “I can’t tell if I’m winning or losing.” She stood up, undoing the laces to her tunic.

“You’re playing strip Diamondback?” Hawke asked.

“No matter what happens, I come out on top,” Isabela said.

“As you always do,” Hawke replied. Merrill snorted as she pulled her tunic over her head and off.

“Your legs look great in those pants,” Merrill said, nodding at the breeches Hawke wore as part of the armored robes she had been given when she was made Champion.

“You should see me without them,” Hawke replied.

Isabela raised an eyebrow as Merrill tossed the tunic at her. “Is that an offer?”

Merrill tilted her head. “Why would you take your legs off?”

Hawke perched in a chair next to Isabela. “I’ve something I think you might like,” she said, handing her a talisman she had found in the market.

Isabela raised an eyebrow. “Er…I see.”

“Please tell me it’s something nice,” Hawke said. “I know it’s Rivaini, but I’m really hoping I didn’t just give you a funeral urn or something.”

Isabela snorted. “No, not exactly. It’s a Rivaini fertility talisman. These petal-like shapes represent…certain fleshy bits, and this protrusion is…well, just look!”

Hawke tilted her head, squinted at the talisman, and then put a hand to her mouth. “Oops.” She giggled. “Um. Right. And all this time I thought it was just a flower. Are you an expert on Rivaini talismans?”

“My mother was a Rivaini seer,” Isabela said. “Or rather, she pretended to be. She knew enough about the old tribal practices to put on a convincing act. She used to hand these things out to women all the time. Rivaini women would wear these so that their wombs would be fruitful and their marriages blessed with many children. Or when they wished for love.”

“Well, we’ve already got love, so I guess this is a bit unnecessary,” Hawke said, wrapping her arms around Isabela’s waist. “Have you come up with a new name for the _Pride of Rialto_ yet?”

“Not yet,” Isabela admitted, smiling. “I’ve got a few ideas, though.”

Hawke grinned. “I love the look you get when you think about boats.”

Isabela shrugged unrepentantly. “I like big boats, I cannot lie.”

Hawke buried her face in Isabela’s neck. “Mm. Talk nautical to me.”

“Wherever we want to go, we go, that’s what a ship is, you know,” Isabela said softly. “It’s not just a keel and a hull and a deck and sails, that’s what a ship _needs_. But what a ship _is_, what the _Siren’s Call_ was, what this ship is, is _freedom_.”

“Hawke?”

“And just like that, the magic is gone,” Hawke sighed. “Yes Aveline! We’re in here!”

“I need your help,” Aveline said as she came in, her eyes narrowing as she saw Merrill sitting across from Isabela and Hawke with her tunic on the table in front of her. “Er…is this a bad time?”

“What’s going on,” Hawke replied, drawing Aveline’s attention back to her.

“There’s been a murder, and I want your help looking into it,” Aveline said, glancing over as Merrill tugged her tunic back over her head.

“Something unusual about it?”

Aveline’s face was grim. “The victim was found dismembered down by the docks, part of the body preserved in quicklime, and there were white lilies at the scene.”

Hawke’s face went pale. Merrill’s face darkened, and Isabela’s jaw was firmly set. “Excuse me?” Hawke finally managed.

“I know,” Aveline said. “Hawke, I wouldn’t bother you with this, I know you killed that man, but if there’s someone else copying him…”

“Hawke, _breathe_,” Isabela said as Hawke shuddered. “Easy. He’s dead. We’ll find out what’s going on here.”

It took Hawke a few moments to compose herself. “Isabela. Get Anders and Fenris. We’ll pick up Varric on the way down to the docks.” The pirate left immediately, and Hawke pointed at Aveline. “You come with me.” Aveline followed Hawke into her bedroom, watching as Hawke stripped off her clothes and donned her equipment. “How would this killer know how to copy him?”

“I don’t know,” Aveline said. “The reports were sealed. Nobody could have read them anyway. Nobody would know what happened.”

“Except for anyone who was there,” Hawke pointed out. “You think your men didn’t talk?”

Aveline stiffened, crossing her arms. “My men are professionals.”

“Right, like the one who raped that elf?”

“They didn’t talk,” Aveline growled. “I gave orders to that effect.”

“And your orders are always followed, I suppose. I guess you never gave orders about ‘don’t cover up the kidnapping of Qunari delegates’ or ‘don’t rape people,’ then.”

“It gets worse,” Aveline said loudly, ignoring Hawke’s jabs. “The Templars are trying to get involved, still saying that the guard cannot handle the situation in Kirkwall.”

“Of course they are,” Hawke groaned.

—ROTC—

“Cullen,” Hawke said flatly. “Seeing you here certainly is a…” She paused. “What brings you here?”

“We are investigating this murder, as it appears related to the unfortunate incident several years ago.”

“The one you failed to investigate. There’s no evidence of any mages being involved here,” Hawke pointed out, trying to appear like she was ignoring the two men with Cullen, both of which were focused on her. “Why would the Templars be investigating?”

Cullen sighed. “Need I remind you, Hawke, what happens when you interfere in a Templar investigation?”

“The case gets solved?” Hawke asked innocently. Cullen glared at her. Her first instinct was to tell them to shove their swords up their asses and swirl them around. Luckily, she said something else. “I’m sure the Templars have plenty to do already.” She refrained from voicing her thoughts on what they might spend their time doing instead. “The city guard can and will handle this, with my assistance, and if it turns out that there is magic at play here, we will of course inform you and turn the investigation over to you.”

Cullen stared her down, and Hawke returned the stare. “Very well,” he finally said. “Keep us informed.”

The Templars departed without incident, and Varric nudged her elbow. “You’ve really come into your own.”

“All right, spread out and see what you can find.”

—ROTC—

_Knight-Commander Meredith  
“I have sympathy for the mages. They bear a terrible curse—one that endangers not only themselves but innocents as well. We allow them freedom only at the risk of unleashing them upon the unwary.”_

_Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard is a native of Kirkwall. An orphan who joined the Templar Order when quite young, she worked her way up the ranks with sheer determination. She is credited with removing the previous viscount, Perrin Threnhold, from his position after he attempted to have the templars expelled from the city in 9:21 Dragon. The acting knight-commander was arrested and executed, and Meredith led a group of Templars into the heart of the Keep to capture Threnhold. He was tried and imprisoned three days later by Grand Cleric Elthina and died from poisoning two years later. Meredith was subsequently elevated to her current position._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	26. Tipping Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything falls apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so this chapter is un-edited. Please excuse any typos.
> 
> Finally almost done with this fic. I had to stop for a bit while writing it, as some of the content in the chapter felt a bit on the nose considering recent events here in the U.S. Then I figured fuck it, just because it's applicable doesn't mean it's bad, especially because I wrote it before things began going completely sideways.

_The Wounded Coast  
One of the few roads leading into Kirkwall passes through a dangerous area known as the Wounded Coast. The road winds close to the cliff edge that looms over waters with many a precipitous drop to the churning waves below. There’s many a local legend involving travelers falling, or jumping, or having been flung from those heights._

_From the cliffs, the road leads through jagged hills that line the pass like sharp teeth. Bandits use these hills as cover from which to ambush caravans. There’s more to fear here than bandits, of course. Once one leaves the hills, you come upon a maze of sharp canyons, the hunting grounds for many fierce creatures. It is a place of secrets dating back to the golden age of the Tevinter Imperium, where Ancient relics and statues crumble in time with the rocks._

_—From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi_

—ROTC—

“Hawke was a fool to let you move in,” Anders said.

Merrill raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ll only betray her. That’s all your kind can do.”

“Are you jealous? You don’t get upset about Hawke and Isabela.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “You can’t really get jealous of someone for sleeping with Isabela. It’s just...understood. She’s like a side dish. She comes with the meal.”

“Only if it’s a good meal,” Isabela commented.

“Anders, rein it in,” Hawke said. Her tone was light, but she was glaring at Anders as she pulled him aside. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I know it isn’t my place to criticize, but...are you sure about Merrill? She acts sweet, but she’ll never choose you over her demon.”

“You’re right. It isn’t your place. Merrill loves me. And so does Isabela.”

“What right do you have to question us?” Merrill demanded. “Is your Justice any different?”

“Keep your illusions, then,” Anders said. “Maker knows I won’t be the one to change them.”

Hawke shook her head. “What is your _problem_?”

“My _problem_ is she’s been going through my things!” He pointed at Merrill.

“Wait. What?” Hawke looked at Merrill. “What?”

“Were you not trying to look at my grimoire the other day?”

Merrill put on her best innocent face. “Me? What? No! When?”

“At my clinic, while I was talking to Hawke. I saw you looking in one of my books. You know, those are private.”

“I know, that’s why I…” Merrill hunched her shoulders. “Oh, fine. I admit it. I was hoping you’d have, um, dirty spells.”

Anders looked at her incredulously. “_Dirty spells?_”

Merrill’s cheeks pinked. “You know! To, um, make things more exciting.” Anders’ eyebrows were practically in his hairline. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“That’s my girl,” Isabela said proudly.

“More exciting? For you and Hawke?”

“And Isabela,” Merrill said quietly, blushing fiercely.

“Stop,” Hawke said. “Just…stop right there.”

Desperate, Merrill turned to Varric. “Am I in your stories?”

Varric snorted. “Daisy, everyone is fair game for my stories.”

“I never hear any stories with me in them! What sorts of things do I do?”

“Well, you get lost a lot. You wind up in the middle of a dog racing track in Darktown. Or in the viscount’s bathing room.”

“So they’re true stories?” Merrill asked.

“Daisy, I could never make that stuff up. Nobody would believe it.”

Shaking her head, Hawke turned back to Aveline and the business at hand. “Who found the corpse?” she asked.

“Two of my guards, Lukas and Kristjan. I’ve got them on their way down here.” She paused. “I appreciate your help on this, Hawke. Since…since the Qunari, I’ve been looking into the civilian reports more. They’ve been stacking up for some time.” Hawke grunted noncommittally. “I’ve been trying to make sure that things don’t get worse than they do. But I don’t know if I can do it alone.”

“That seems to be why I’m here,” Hawke said. “I don’t do this for the recognition or the money. It needs doing, I’m capable of doing it, and nobody else will. I’d gladly hand the responsibility off to someone else, but Kirkwall has this odd fascination with catching fire every few years and I always seem to be the only one willing to step up and put it out.”

“Or as of late, keep the fire from flaring up again,” Aveline said. “I know how many things you’ve been handling that would normally be handled by the Viscount’s office.”

Hawke nodded, rubbing her face. “If I don’t handle those, if I don’t keep Meredith from squeezing this city tighter and tighter, Kirkwall is going to become even more of a shithole than it already is. Bran’s an ass, but at least he’s not checking under every cobblestone and inside every chamber pot for signs of blood magic.”

“As it is, something’s going to have to give sooner or later,” Aveline said.

“I know. The only question is what, and when. The Grand Cleric talks about Meredith as if she’s just a little girl throwing a tantrum and Orsino like he’s a little boy who won’t stop dropping his pants in public. Like if we just give them enough time, they’ll just learn to behave on their own. But Meredith won’t budge an inch, not for anyone. And what is she expecting Orsino to do? What concessions can he possibly make? He’s not rabble-rousing in the streets to piss Meredith off. He was calling for help and Elthina shut him down.”

“Captain!” Two men in guardsmen plate were approaching, and Aveline nodded in greeting. “What’s going on?”

“Just following up on the corpse you found here,” Aveline said. “Talk to me, Lukas.”

Lukas’s brow furrowed. “I thought we’d put this to rest?”

“Just making sure,” Hawke said.

Lukas shrugged. “Well, if you want to waste your time chasing down something we already solved, that’s your choice. The body was found over here.” He indicated a darkened section of the alleyway. “There were barrels in the way – those were removed when we found the corpse, obviously. We noticed the smell, first.”

Hawke glanced down the length of the alleyway. “What time of day was the corpse found?”

“Morning,” Kristjan broke in. “Early patrol.”

“Anything on the body?”

“Yeah, that’s why I said we’d put this to rest,” Lukas said. “The body had a letter on it, written in some sort of code. Coterie, we figured.”

“Where’s the letter?”

“Evidence locker up at the Keep,” Kristjan said.

Hawke nodded. “You said you found white lilies, and the body was dismembered?”

Lukas sighed. “Yeah. The body was…I wouldn’t say torn apart, but the legs and arms were severed. He was already consigned to the pyre, though.”

“Wait, _he_?” Hawke asked. “You said he?”

Lukas nodded. “The victim was a male elf.”

Hawke glanced at Aveline. “All the previous victims were human women.”

“Previous victims?” Lukas asked.

“There was a murderer who abducted and killed several women, dismembering the bodies,” Hawke explained. “He sent the victims white lilies before he took them.”

“And you think this is the same person?”

“No.” Hawke’s eyes were dark. “He’s dead. But if someone’s copying him, that’s bad news.”

Kristjan grunted. “Ask the Coterie, then.”

—ROTC—

Hawke blasted the man off his feet, stepping inside the Darktown safehouse. “I need to speak to whoever’s in charge,” she said calmly as the man groaned, having crashed through a crate on the opposite side of the room.

“It’s the Champion!” one of the men inside shouted, grabbing a cudgel and charging at Hawke.

Rolling her eyes, Hawke ducked his swing and made a vague gesture at him, tossing him across the room with a pulse of force. “I said, I need to talk to whoever’s in charge.”

It took several minutes of repeating herself and tossing overly confident henchmen around before someone willing to talk emerged. He was a blond elf, a puckered scar on his face. “You got some serious stones coming down here like this,” he blustered. “Even if you are Champion, nobody messes with the Coterie.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll rue the day,” Hawke said dismissively. “Why’d you have Aedan killed?”

There was a moment’s pause. “Who?”

“Aedan. Elf. Male. Found dismembered down by the docks. White lilies left at the scene,” Hawke said.

The elf glanced at his followers. “We didn’t kill anyone down by the docks. Haven’t for months. And we don’t know any Aedan.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Aveline said. “We’re here to arrest you, of course you’d claim you’re innocent.”

“Look, lady, you’re outnumbered about forty to two,” he snapped. “I don’t give a rat’s flea-ridden ass what you think. What makes you so sure it was us?”

Aveline fished the crumpled letter out of her pocket, tossing it on the table. “This. Coterie code, isn’t it?”

He took a look at it. “This isn’t a Coterie code.”

“And we’re just supposed to believe you?” Aveline asked skeptically.

“Oi, dipshit, this is _elven_.” He pointed at Hawke. “She’s close with that Dalish in the alienage, isn’t she? Ask her! She could probably read it for you! What idiot told you this was a Coterie code?”

Hawke grabbed the letter off the table, and then glanced at Aveline. “Aveline, did you not _look_ at this? I know maybe half a dozen elven words I picked up from Merrill, and I recognize most of them here.”

Aveline pinched the bridge of her nose. “For pity’s sake.”

Hawke took a steadying breath, before folding the letter and stashing it in her robes. “We’re going to leave, calmly, quietly, and we’re not going to come back,” she said. “If anyone was hurt, you know where to go for healing, right?” The elf nodded. “Good. Tell him I sent you. Sorry about this.”

“You think that helps?” The elf asked irritably. “You know how hard it is to set up a new safehouse?” He continued grumbling as Hawke and Aveline made an exit.

—ROTC—

Merrill knocked on the door, glancing over her shoulder at Hawke. “I knew Aedan,” she said softly. “He was sweet. Kind. Always waved hello when he saw me coming into the alienage.”

The door opened slightly, an elven woman on the other side. Her smile at Merrill faded immediately when she saw the armor Aveline was wearing. “What’s going on, Merrill?”

“We’re here about Aedan, Lilian.”

“What about him?” she asked. “He was murdered. I’ve accepted that. Those bastards arrested him and he mysteriously died on the way to the Keep.”

“Son of a bitch,” Hawke breathed.

“You said he was arrested?” Aveline asked.

“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you.” Aveline frowned. “Don’t pretend you weren’t involved. You’re the captain of the guard, you know what your men are doing.”

“Aveline,” Hawke said.

“No,” Aveline insisted. “We expelled the bad men. They were drummed out of the guard.”

“You actually believe that, don’t you,” Lilian said. “Haven’t you noticed that your men tend to arrest an awful lot of people, but most of the elven ‘criminals’ they encounter don’t survive the arrest?”

“Aedan had no connections with the Coterie at all, did he,” Hawke said, glaring at Aveline.

“Of course not,” Lilian scoffed. “He was a good man. He worked with a tanner. The Coterie don’t care about leathermakers.”

“Who arrested him?” Aveline asked.

“Two guardsmen,” Lilian said. “I think one called the other Lukas.” Aveline closed her eyes, pressing a clenched fist against her forehead.

“I think we need to go have another talk with Lukas and Kristjan,” Hawke said. “I think I’m going to start by breaking their legs.”

—ROTC—

“_My legs!_”

“Quit whining,” Hawke sighed, planting a boot on Lukas’s chest. “They’re still attached. Consider yourself lucky.”

“Was that really necessary?” Aveline asked, holding Kristjan’s arm at an angle it was clearly not meant to bend to and forcing him to his knees.

“They arrested a man who mysteriously died on the way to the Keep, and apparently faked a crime scene to cover it up,” Hawke replied. “Are you telling me this bastard didn’t deserve that?”

“No, I’m saying we’re going to have to carry him all the way to the Keep now,” Aveline said.

“I’ll drag him there myself,” Donnic offered from where he was leaning against the wall, glaring at Lukas. “It’d be a pleasure.”

Hawke nodded, before turning back to Lukas. “All right, start talking. What happened to Aedan?”

“Who?”

“Son of a…” Hawke lifted her boot off his chest, before stomping on his shattered knee and waiting until the screaming stopped. “The elf you two arrested! The elf whose corpse you claimed to have found dismembered down by the docks!”

“He was just a knife-ear!” Kristjan spat. “Who cares? Nobody’ll miss him anyway!”

Aveline pulled tighter on Kristjan’s arm, the joint visibly deforming and bringing a pained bellow from the man. “Tell that to his family!”

“How’d he die?” Hawke demanded, putting her weight on Lukas’s knee. “Lie to me again, I dare you!”

“He’d caused us trouble before,” Lukas gasped out. “We stopped him to tell him to back off, and then he started calling us names.”

“So you killed him?” Hawke asked incredulously. “Because he called you names?”

“We were just going to arrest him, but he resisted,” Lukas insisted. “He tried to run!”

“And you killed him for _that_?”

“Little rabbit shit deserved it! He shouldn’t have run!”

Hawke looked to Aveline. “Please, just leave them with me. I’ll make sure they don’t trouble anyone again. I’ll even fill out the paperwork.”

Aveline shoved Kristjan forward. “No. I’m going to drag these shits back to the Keep and make an example out of them. And any guard who covered for them is going too.”

“Why bother faking a murder scene?” Brennan asked. “Why bother talking about the lilies?” Lukas glared at her.

Hawke ground the heel of her boot into the man’s broken leg. “Answer the question!”

“He’d complained before,” Lukas forced out. “We had to make it look like it wasn’t us.”

“Get them out of here,” Aveline said. “They’ll get a fair trial. It’s better than they deserve.” Donnic and Brennan dragged the two men from the room, and Aveline pressed a fist to her mouth for a moment, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry, Hawke.”

“For what?”

“Involving you in this,” Aveline said. “This was a guard problem. You’ve got enough to worry about. I should have seen this.” She shook her head. “How could I have been so blind, so _stupid_…”

“We see what we want to see,” Hawke said. “Learn from it. Do better.”

“I don’t know if this is fixable,” Aveline replied. “The guard is part of the problem. Lukas and Kristjan are bad enough, but then there’s the ones who covered for them. You heard them. Aedan had complained before. Nobody said a word.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Hawke said. “Actually, yes, I do. Get your house in order. Root the corruption out. Make it clear to your men that murdering innocents or keeping silent for those who do will not be tolerated. They can take that shit to the Templars. Once that’s done, maybe people will start trusting the guard again.”

“There’s always going to be work to be done,” Aveline said. “But that’s a place to start.”

—ROTC—

Two days later, Varric found Hawke sitting in the study, staring listlessly at an old book. “Something wrong?” She asked after a few moments’ silence, not looking at him.

“No, just a social visit.”

“Then no offense, but I’m not really in the mood.”

Varric didn’t leave, although that was clearly what she meant. Instead, he moved to the liquor cabinet Isabela had talked her into installing, pulling out the decanter of brandy and two glasses. He poured a few fingers of the amber liquid into each glass, setting one in front of her.

She finally looked up at him. “I’m not really in the mood to drink, either.”

“I’ll have yours too, then,” Varric said, dropping into the seat opposite her and leaving his glass untouched.

There was a long, long silence. It would be tremendously awkward if the two weren’t old friends, and weren’t staring at each other intently. Finally, Hawke picked up the glass, but barely wet her lips.

He knew why she was like this, today. She got like this every year on this day, every year since her mother died in her arms. Usually Merrill or Isabela was able to pull her out of it, or at least keep her busy. But Isabela was sick and bundled up in Merrill’s tiny house in the alienage with the elf looking after her – at Hawke’s urging, no less. So it was up to him, to make sure Hawke didn’t have to deal with bullshit for _one day_.

“My mother never got over leaving Orzammar,” he finally said. “She stayed in all the time, kept the windows covered. She and my father fought more and more as the years went on. She blamed him for getting the family exiled. Blamed him for everything, really. Any inconvenience, she laid at his feet, from having to deal with surfacer dwarves to running out of wine.” He worked his jaw, looking at the glass in front of him. “And she ran out of wine plenty. As I got older, she stayed in bed more. She drank a lot, even early on, but it got worse. And worse. Towards the end…I did everything I could for the family. My whole life, and Bartrand was still the favorite son. I looked out for him as he built the family holdings, cared for her as she grew more and more fragile. And I made up stories for her.” He huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh. “It got me started in storytelling. She was my best audience at first, ecstatic when my first book came out. But it didn’t change anything in the end.”

Hawke picked up the glass again, taking a proper sip this time. “I loved my mother, dearly. I know she loved me, I know she was proud of me, and I know she wanted the best for me. But there were times when it seemed that there was nothing I could do that would ever be good enough for her. I know she didn’t mean it, but that’s still how it felt. The only thing that would have done would be to bring back my father, and Bethany…” She took another sip, setting one hand on the book on the table, drawing her nails across the worn leather.

“What is that?”

“A book of poetry,” Hawke said. “My father sent it to my mother while he was still in the Circle. It was the only thing of his that my mother was able to bring from Lothering.” She looked around the room. “There’s so little of him left. Of any of them. His old staff, his old tunic. This book. I gave Carver Bethany’s scarf. I think he needs it more than me. It’s about all there is left to prove she existed at all.”

“What was she like?” Varric asked. “Your sister.”

“She was my sister, and one of the best friends I’ve ever had,” Hawke said. “She never wanted her magic, always resented that the rest of the family had to take risks to keep her and me safe, but she was…bright, really. I don’t just mean that she was intelligent – she was, but she was also an uncommonly kind person. She had a way of seeing the beauty and goodness in others even when that person couldn’t see it in themselves. Everyone liked her, and I mean _everyone_.” Hawke smiled mirthlessly. “She never believed it, but she was actually a better mage than I am.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Varric said. “I’ve seen you sling spells all day long.”

Hawke shrugged. “I have deeper reserves than she did, but her spells had more kick, and she had better fine control, later on. I’ve gotten better, but she was something to see. When our father trained us in lightning magic, I accidentally ignited some brush with a lightning bolt. She blew up four trees with a single spell.”

Varric grinned. “Little fireball, was she?”

“Yeah. She was one of the sweetest people I ever met, but her first magic was blowing a bully clear across a field. Just concentrated ‘get out of my face.’ We had to move away after that, but I’ll bet you that that boy never bullied anyone ever again.”

The two talked for another few hours, putting away several more glasses of the brandy. Eventually, Varric made to leave, but she spoke again as he reached the door. “Hey, Varric.”

“Hawke?”

“Thanks for coming.”

—ROTC—

“Remember, we have that wedding tomorrow,” Hawke said at the Hanged Man a few days later. “Some friends of Sebastian’s family.”

“And they want us there?” Fenris asked.

“I never said they were good judges of character,” Hawke said. “But everyone needs to at least try to behave there.”

—ROTC—

Hawke peeled her face off the floor, wiping at a bit of drool at the corner of her mouth. Her head was managing to spin and throb at the same time, it felt like something had crawled into her mouth and died, and her eyes felt like they’d been drying in the sun for a week. Had she passed out with her eyes open somehow? “Wha’ happen?”

No answer came, and Hawke looked around blearily. She appeared to be in a cell at the Keep, next to the guard barracks. There were two lumps in the corner of the cell, barely discernible in the dim morning light coming through the window.

“Good morning!” Aveline called as she came into the cell, speaking louder than was strictly necessary.

“Oh, what a rotten thing to say,” Hawke groaned, rolling onto her back. “Why am I in here?”

“You don’t remember?” Hawke shook her head, then groaned again as her brains rattled around inside her skull. “Most of the details still aren’t in yet, but I think you may have to apologize.”

“To who?”

Aveline paused. “Everyone. Just…all of Kirkwall. From the top of Hightown to the bottom of the sewers, I think you owe everyone an apology.”

“Just send me a list,” Hawke muttered, sitting up and rubbing her face.

Aveline smirked. “Nice hair.” Hawke reached up, finding flowers woven into her hair. “Did Merrill do that?”

“Must have been.”

“Have you learned any life lessons?”

“I like big butts and I cannot lie,” Hawke said flatly, checking that the bucket near the wall had water in it before dunking her head in it. She stayed down until her lungs started to burn, before pulling her head out, shaking water across the floor. A few of the sodden flowers came loose. “I don’t really remember much of last night. Bits and pieces. I know mistakes were made. If I had done everything right last night, we wouldn’t have been arrested.” She looked over. “Is that Anders?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he breathing?”

“He was, last I checked,” Aveline said, holding a hand underneath the unconscious man’s nose. “Yeah, still breathing.”

“Nice to see you’re concerned about me,” Isabela mumbled into the floor.

Hawke wiped water from her face. “Were there any other survivors?”

“Sebastian wasn’t arrested, Varric talked his way out of it, and nobody has seen Fenris or Merrill,” Aveline said. “At least since last night. They _tried_ to arrest Merrill, but she seems to have finally learned the alleys. They couldn’t catch her.”

“That’s my girl,” Hawke said proudly. “And she’s _fast_ when she’s drunk. Not very coordinated, but fast.”

“So what happened?” Isabela asked.

“You don’t remember?”

“No.” Aveline met her stare, and Isabela pouted. “Come on! How are we going to know what a good time we had unless you tell us how rotten we are?”

Aveline rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m not your mother…”

“I should hope not,” Isabela muttered.

“But I don’t have all the details myself,” Aveline continued. “But I was there at the start.”

—ROTC—

“Is Isabela bent over a couch yet or did this wedding throw off her schedule?” Aveline called as she entered the house. “Come on, we’ll be late!”

“No, we won’t,” Hawke sighed.

“I’m not wearing pants!” Isabela called down the stairs.

“How is that unusual?” Aveline shouted back.

“I’m not going to wear pants either! Hawke, just try not to set too many things on fire tonight, all right?”

“All right, I won’t set anything on fire if you wear clothes all night. This is a bet we’re both destined to lose.”

—ROTC—

“I remember that,” Isabela said. “We did. Although I don’t count that as a loss. Past that, it’s mostly a blank.”

“I’m getting bits and pieces. You came downstairs saying you were now ‘dressed to impress,’” Hawke said.

“What was I wearing?”

“Nothing.”

Isabela shrugged. “Actions speak louder than pants. And clothes are such an inconvenience. I don’t see why you’re so upset, it’s not like you were wearing pants either.”

“I was wearing a dress!”

“And you looked particularly edible in it,” Isabela purred.

“Please, I don’t want to vomit this early in the morning,” Aveline sighed. “You lot behaved at the wedding, at least. Then you left for other parts of Kirkwall, and I lost track of you until this morning.” Fenris walked in, one of his eyes covered by a bandage wrapped around his head. “You too?” Aveline asked. “Clearly mistakes were made.”

“I woke up mostly naked, with ten visible bite marks and a black eye,” Fenris replied, holding up a hand to reveal a deep bite mark on the side. “I’m just going to assume that it was a good night.”

“We were hoping you would have the details,” Isabela sighed.

“At first I was confused when I woke up with shards of glass and pickle brine in my pants. But then I remembered I was with you last night.” Isabela grinned at his words.

“I think this bite mark may have been Merrill,” Hawke said, examining Fenris’s hand more closely. “I recognize the pattern. Seen it enough times.”

Fenris was glaring at Isabela. “What are you so mad about?” Isabela asked.

Hawke squinted. “He’s mad because you were ‘slandering his penis,’” she said. “I remember that vaguely.”

“That’s only part of it,” Fenris grumbled. “I also have a bruise the size of your fist on my cock and there are thorn wounds on my balls. Don’t ever question my dedication to party again.”

“How’d _that_ happen?” Hawke asked. “I only remember the ‘slandering his penis’ part.”

“I called her a liar, she punched me in the crotch, and I fell into a rosebush,” Fenris said testily. Isabela shrugged. “Oh no you don’t. I still have your handprint on my ass. You’re not allowed to ignore me yet.”

“Did I throw a brick at someone last night?” Hawke asked.

“Yes, and I’m still pissed off at you for that,” Fenris said.

Anders twitched, then rolled onto his side and vomited violently onto the floor. Everyone watched for a long moment. “He’s alive,” Hawke finally said, rather unnecessarily. “On a scale of one to last weekend, how hungover are you?”

“I drank entirely too much,” Anders groaned, panting and wiping his mouth. “My skin hurts to wear.”

“Don’t remember much from last night, but I recall slipping you the tongue,” Isabela said to Anders. “For that I apologize.”

Anders waved her off. “Our relationship has a solid foundation of booze and questionable behavior.” He dunked his head like Hawke had done. “I feel like the Maker sat there all night pointing and laughing at me.”

“Are you all right?”

“There is way too much butter on my body for this to be all right,” Anders said, holding his head. “Why didn’t you say something constructive like ‘stop chugging that whiskey?’”

“I was too busy drinking,” Hawke replied. “You should have been there, Aveline. We threw a sword through a window.” She tilted her head, patting her chest. “I think I left my brassiere at the Hanged Man.”

“Yes, it’s still hanging from my bedpost,” Varric said as he walked in. “Please let me keep it there. It makes a great conversation piece.”

“Reimburse me for it, those things are expensive.”

“Weddings at vineyards should never be allowed to happen,” Isabela said, leaning back against the wall. “I’m pretty sure I drank every bottle they produced in 9:32. It was a bit awkward standing up at their wedding knowing I’ve slept with both the bride and the groom.” She tilted her head. “Did I make friends with someone at the Rose last night?”

“Friends is kind of a strong word,” Varric said. “You couldn’t find any towels to clean up the wine you spilled, so you tried to use her cat.”

Isabela’s eyes widened. “Oh, I remember now. Not very absorbent. Does anyone know how to get red wine out of a white cat?”

“You were kissing some man at the Rose, and she just stood there and watched. Then you said you felt bad so you made out with her too, because ‘she looked like she felt left out.’”

“So why’d we leave the Rose?” Isabela asked.

“You got thrown out,” Fenris said, pointing at Isabela. “She kept peeing on everything and yelling it was now her property.”

“So I hit rock bottom, the Maker threw me a shovel, I continued to dig.”

“Has anyone seen Sebastian?” Hawke asked. “He doesn’t get drunk, maybe he knows what happened after that.”

“The last time I saw him, he was floating face down in the fountain outside the Viscount’s estate,” Isabela said. “But I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Hawke, are you in here?” Merrill called, entering the room.

“Ah-hah! She’s all right!” Hawke said. “I knew she’d be fine. Merrill, how much do you remember?”

“A bit. Some parts are…blurry.”

“What do you remember?”

“You broke a window with your face,” Merrill said. “I don’t think the landlord will be as impressed as we were. Then we managed to set a grill stand and all the meat on it on fire. I didn’t help because I was filled with alcohol and extra flammable.”

“I think I remember that part,” Hawke said. “I remember fire, and meat burning, and…someone screaming about a parrot?”

“After all you put him through, I think it was only right that you saluted the bartender when you left the Hanged Man that night,” Anders said.

“Why’d we leave?”

Anders pressed his knuckles into his eyes. “Isabela was dragging you out, I think. You and Merrill.”

“Pretty sure I had my hand down both their pants at the same time at that point...” Isabela murmured.

“Sounds about right,” Hawke said. “So why did we finally get arrested? Was it me?”

“Yeah, you were trying to hump the doorman,” Isabela said.

“When did I get a doorman?”

“We were also in the wrong building,” Isabela added. “We were in the De Launcet mansion for some reason. The only thing the guardsman asked me was ‘how are you still alive?’” She squinted, thinking. “And then I think Merrill offered him a drink.”

“Well yes, in hindsight obviously offering the cop a shot was a bad idea,” Merrill said. “I was trying to be polite!”

“Anyway, I’m here to get them released,” Varric said. “I already paid the appropriate fines.”

Aveline groaned. “If I see you lot back in here, I’m not going to be able to let things blow over. Just…behave yourselves for a while. _Please_.”

—ROTC—

They regrouped at the Hanged Man later that afternoon, all in various states of hungover and injured.

“Well, I went to the Chantry this morning, trying to see if Sebastian had any idea what happened,” Isabela said.

“And you didn’t burst into flames upon crossing the threshold?” Fenris asked.

Isabela waved him off. “I just smoldered a little. Nobody’s seen Sebastian, so there’s still some blanks.”

Norah came over. “Drinks, anyone?”

“I’m not drinking,” Fenris replied, prodding gently at the bandage on his face.

“I might have a beer,” Isabela said. “Just to keep this hangover on its toes.”

A messenger entered the tavern, heading straight for Hawke. “Champion, a letter for you.” Hawke unfolded the note, handing a few coins to the messenger.

“Shit.”

“Good news, I take it,” Varric said tiredly.

“It’s from Orsino,” Hawke said, reading aloud. “Champion, you have proven yourself a friend to Kirkwall’s mages and it seems I must call on you once again. Meredith has gone too far, and I will not let her madness remain unchecked. I ask that you come to the Gallows at once. Perhaps together we can stop this before there is bloodshed.”

The entire crew was out the door in seconds.

—ROTC—

They were met in the courtyard by a single mage. “Champion! Thank the Maker you’ve come.”

“What’s happened?” Hawke asked, wishing desperately that the sun would dim a bit, or at least go behind a cloud.

“First Enchanter Orsino got into a terrible argument with the knight-commander,” the mage explained. “He stormed off to bring the matter before the Grand Cleric, but the knight-commander gave chase. I fear there will be blood!”

“Then we’d better catch up while we can.”

—ROTC—

They managed to catch up to them in Lowtown. Meredith and a handful of Templars were facing off against Orsino and a few mages. Sebastian had finally reappeared, and appeared to be trying to mediate. Mostly, he was being ignored. “I _will_ have the tower searched,” Meredith was saying. “Top to bottom!”

“You cannot do that,” Orsino protested. “You have no right!”

“I have _every_ right! You are harboring blood mages, and I intend to root them out before they infect this city!”

“Blood magic,” Orsino jeered. “Where do you not see blood magic? My people cannot sneeze without you accusing them of corruption.”

“Do not trifle with me, mage,” Meredith warned. “My patience is at an end.”

“A wonder that I never saw it begin!”

“What’s Meredith done now?” Hawke asked irritably.

“This does not involve you, Champion,” Meredith said immediately.

“It sure seems like it does,” Hawke replied. “It looks like you’re exceeding your authority. Again.”

“I called her here,” Orsino said. “I think the people deserve to know just what you’ve done.”

“What I have done is protect the people of this city, time and again,” Meredith declared.

“Your murder squads in Lowtown beg to differ,” Hawke jabbed.

“What I have done is protect you mages from your curse and your own stupidity,” Meredith went on.

“Say, Orsino, what’s the suicide rate among apprentices like these days? Meredith, how many mages have you made Tranquil illegally?”

“And I will not stop doing it! I will not lower our guard, _I dare not!_”

“I’m making a point here,” Hawke began. “Is there any truth to what she’s saying?”

“These are only her latest accusations, nothing more,” Orsino said tiredly. “And what if she does not find what she’s looking for? How much further will she go to root out something that isn’t there?”

“The Champion knows better than anyone how deep the Circle’s corruption goes. I must find the source!”

“Try looking in a mirror,” Hawke suggested. “The only corruption in the Gallows comes from you.” She glanced at Orsino. “You know she’s already planning to kill you all.”

“One of the reasons I was going to the Grand Cleric,” Orsino said. “How many more concessions can I make? What other ground can I give? How servile must we be before we are allowed the luxury of existence?”

“You’ve gone too far, Meredith,” Hawke said. “Again.”

“What other option do we have?” Meredith asked. “Tell me, Champion, that you have not seen with your own eyes what they can do, heard the lies of mages that seek power!”

“I tell you what I’ve heard,” Hawke said. “I’ve heard people pleading for _my_ help, because you refuse to let a Viscount be appointed. I’ve heard people living in fear of the Templars, because they know your men will do whatever pleases them and face no consequences. I’ve heard mages losing hope, because your boots are on their necks! We’re not the enemy here!”

“You would cast us all as villains, but it is not so!” Orsino broke in.

“I know, and it breaks my heart to do it, but we must be vigilant,” Meredith said, feigning regret. “If you cannot tell me another way, do not brand me a tyrant!”

“Everyone has told you another way, but you refuse to listen,” Hawke spat. She glanced around, noting the positions of the Templars Meredith had brought and where her own followers were located.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Orsino growled. “Grand Cleric Elthina will put a stop to this.” He turned to head towards Hightown, but Meredith grabbed him by the arm, hauling him around.

“You will _not_ bring Her Grace into this!”

Hawke opened her mouth to intervene, but Anders beat her to it. “The grand cleric cannot help you!”

“Explain yourself, mage,” Meredith ordered, her fists clenching.

“I will not stand by and watch you treat all mages like criminals,” Anders said, slamming the butt of his staff on the ground like a judge’s gavel. His voice had an air of confidence he had rarely shown in the time Hawke had known him as he turned his gaze on Orsino. “While those would lead us bow to their Templar jailors!”

“How dare you…” Orsino broke off as Anders slammed his staff into the ground again.

“The Circle has failed us, Orsino! Even you should be able to see that!” His eyes flared blue, and the Templars stepped back, reaching for their weapons. “The time has come to act. There can be no half-measures.”

“Anders,” Hawke said softly. “What have you done?”

“There can be no turning back,” Anders said, almost regretfully.

There was an audible rumble, and a tremor went through the ground beneath their feet. There was a blaze of light from the direction of Hightown, and Hawke turned to see a pillar of reddish light spearing down from the sky. It took her a moment to realize that the light was coming from the ground, specifically from within the Chantry, which appeared to be shaking itself to pieces. The debris curled upwards around the shaft of light erupting from the ground and the shaking intensified, until it exploded outwards, scattering burning debris across the city.

In an instant, every moment that Anders had hinted about his plan came back to Hawke.

_It would take something truly catastrophic to change people’s thinking now._

_Just mix up the ingredients, and…boom. Justice and I are free._

_We can take our rightful place among free mages._

_If you support freedom for mages, help me._

_I am doing only what is necessary._

_It’s easy to support freedom if no one must die to achieve it._

_Give her one final chance to hear what we have suffered._

“Maker have mercy,” Meredith breathed.

Hawke was staring in horror at where the Chantry had been. “Anders,” she said softly. “_What the fuck_.”

“There can be no peace,” he said solemnly.

Hawke could vaguely hear Sebastian shouting something off to the side, but she wasn’t paying attention. She had rounded on Anders. “This is what you were planning? This is what you think will help? You lied to me!”

“Only by omission,” Anders whispered.

“You used me! You used us all!”

“What would you have had me say? That I was planning an act that could only end in war?”

Hawke grabbed him by the collar. “I would have had you _trust me!_” She shoved Anders back, and the mage fell hard on his rear. “I thought we cleared this up a few years back. You remember, when I had to fight a fucking Qunari the size of a house? We learned this lesson, everyone! If you don’t trust Hawke, if you don’t tell Hawke when you’re doing something bad, people die! Good people!”

“Why?” Orsino demanded, finally regaining his senses. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“I removed the chance of compromise, because there is no compromise,” Anders said.

“The Grand Cleric has been slain by magic, the chantry destroyed,” Meredith said formally. “As Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, I hereby invoke the Right of Annulment. Every mage in the Circle is to be executed – immediately.”

“Oh, you’ve just been waiting for an excuse, haven’t you,” Hawke spat.

“The Circle didn’t even do this!” Orsino protested. “Champion, you can’t let her! Help us stop this madness!”

“And I call on you to keep order,” Meredith said, clearly ignoring what Hawke was saying. “After what just occurred, you cannot deny what must be done.”

Sebastian had been pacing and was staring at Anders angrily. “Why are we debating the Right of Annulment when the monster who did this is standing right here?”

Hawke ignored him. “Years, Anders, we lived and worked and fought together for _years_! You had every reason to trust me, and you still wouldn’t tell me what you were really planning.”

“I didn’t want this on your head,” Anders replied.

“I distracted the Grand Cleric for you!” Hawke shouted. “You involved me!” She pointed at the column of smoke rising into the night sky. “What did that accomplish?”

“Elthina’s duty was to stop Meredith’s abuses, and she did nothing,” Anders said. “Everything that the mages suffer from can be laid at the Chantry’s feet. Is it not justice to destroy the source of such misery? She said it herself! The Maker blessed us with minds and a conscience. He does not approve when we fail to use them.” He scoffed, gesturing at where the chantry had been. “Do you think I _wanted_ to do this? I tried everything! I led by example! Hundreds of Kirkwall citizens are alive today because of my work! I spread leaflets to educate people! I assisted mages in escaping the Circle! I attempted to reason with her! This wasn’t my first plan! The Circle is an injustice, in many places beyond just Kirkwall. The world needs to see.”

“The _world_ is going to see a chantry destroyed by a mage!” Hawke shouted. “Come on, Anders! Pick a better target!”

“Elthina is not the Circle!” Sebastian snarled. “She was a good woman, and _you murdered her_!”

“You fool, you’ve doomed us all,” Orsino said, still shaken.

“We were already doomed,” Anders replied. “A quick death now or a slow one later – I’d rather die fighting.”

“And you get to make that choice for all the mages in the Circle?” Hawke asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Meredith said. “Even if I wished to, I could not stay my hand. The people will demand blood.”

“They would demand _his_ blood,” Hawke shot back, pointing at Anders. “Don’t you dare pretend you’re going to try to Annul the Circle for some greater good. You’re going to try to because you want to.”

“Try?” Meredith asked.

“Yes, try,” Hawke replied. “I’m not going to let you slaughter innocents. You’ve done enough damage, Meredith. You don’t coddle a mad dog. You put it down.”

“Think carefully, Champion,” Meredith warned. “Stand with them and you share their fate.”

“You can drop the act, Meredith,” Hawke replied. “Even if I sided with you, you’d find some pretext to eliminate me.”

“Thank the Maker,” Orsino breathed.

“You are a fool, Champion,” Meredith sneered, signaling her men. “Kill them all! I will rouse the rest of the Order!” She was turning when Varric opened fire, and the bolt that would have caught her in the throat ricocheted off her pauldron. Hawke sent her flying with a blast of force magic before the other Templars cleansed her, and Hawke quickly lost track of her in the chaos that ensued.

Several of Orsino’s mages fell in the fighting, but as Isabela pulled her knives out of the last Templar, the First Enchanter surveyed the scene and shook his head. “So it’s come to this. I don’t know if we can win this war, Champion, but thank you.” He looked at Anders, who had sat down on the steps nearby and was staring into space. “I will leave your…friend, for you to deal with. I must return to the Gallows. Meet me there as soon as you can.”

“We’ll be there,” Hawke said. “Rally the mages before it’s too late.”

“There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t already said to myself,” Anders said as she approached. “I took a spirit into my soul and changed myself forever to achieve this. This is the justice all mages have awaited. I could no more ignore the injustice of the Circle than he could.”

“This isn’t justice,” Hawke said gently. “Freeing the mages, yes, that would be justice. But…how many innocents are going to die in the process?”

“The world needs to see this. Then we can all stop pretending the Circle is a solution. And if I pay for that with my life, then I pay. Perhaps then Justice would at least be free.” He sighed tiredly. “Whatever you’re going to do…just do it.”

Hawke closed her eyes, turning away. “Go. Just…go.”

“You condone this?” Sebastian asked incredulously. “The brutal death of an innocent woman of faith? Someone you knew! Who trusted you! You’re the one who taught me that it is the ends that matter, not the steps you take to get there.”

“I taught you no such thing,” Hawke replied. “And Elthina was far from innocent.”

“If I’d been in that chantry today, would you be waffling? You know what must be done! You cannot let this abomination walk free. He dies, or I am returning to Starkhaven.”

“Promise?” Hawke asked.

“I will return to Starkhaven, and I will bring such an army with me on my return that there’ll be nothing left of Kirkwall for these maleficarum to rule!”

“And the hypocrisy shows through,” Hawke said. “You rave against harming ‘innocents,’ and then threaten to destroy a city to get at one man.”

“I swear, I will come back and find your precious Anders,” Sebastian vowed. “I will teach him what true justice is!” He shook his head in disgust. “I thought I knew you, Hawke.”

“_Goodbye, Sebastian. You won’t be missed._”

Varric watched the proceedings distastefully. When it was over, he cleared his throat. “Those of us that are left had all best get to the Gallows, and quick. It’s going to be quite a show.”

“Before we go, I need to know you’re with me on this,” Hawke said. “All of you. I know some of you don’t believe in mage freedom, but this is about more than that. This is about a madwoman who’s about to slaughter innocent people. I intend to stand in her way. Are you with me?” She looked to Aveline. “We don’t agree on much, but if we were ever going to get along…you know what Meredith is about to do is wrong. You protect the innocent in Kirkwall. Those people are innocent.”

Aveline closed her eyes. “You’re right. I’m with you.”

“Varric?”

“I’ve always got your back,” he replied. “You might not win this fight, though.”

“Fenris?” The elf hesitated. “I thought freedom from slavery meant something to you.”

Fenris sighed. “It does. Damn you, Hawke.”

“Isabela?”

The pirate snorted. “Come off it, Hawke, you know I’m just along for the ride.”

“Not good enough,” Hawke said.

Isabela nodded. “I’m in.” She sighed. “What have you gotten yourself into this time, Isabela?”

“Merrill?”

“This is what matters now,” Merrill said softly. “Let’s save these people. I know we can do this. I believe in you, Hawke.”

“I didn’t expect you to stick around for this mess, Merrill,” Aveline said as they headed for the docks. “This has nothing to do with your elves.”

Merrill shook her head. “I love Hawke, I wouldn’t go anywhere.”

“But it’s not your fight.”

“I love Hawke,” Merrill repeated.

“You said that.”

“I say it a lot,” Merrill replied. “It makes things clearer, takes away doubt when everything is crazy and people are dying.”

“I understand.”

“Oh, good. Someone should. Everything affects everything. We were born, a bunch of things happened, and now we’re in a mess with our friends.”

“That seems too simple.”

“Simple is good. It sneaks up on you, makes you smile. Or it says ‘Hey over there!’ And kills with a pin.”

Aveline raised an eyebrow. “Merrill?”

“Simple, Aveline. Not stupid.” She looked around. “It’s a pretty evening, don’t you agree?”

Everyone stopped, staring at the elf for a moment.

“Merrill,” Hawke said slowly, “_everything is on fire_.”

“I just mean...it’s a nice evening. I just wish this wasn’t happening. I just wish Anders hadn’t done this.”

“This isn’t even about Anders,” Hawke said coldly. “She knows that Anders was never a resident of the Gallows. She’s just looking for an excuse to purge the Kirkwall Circle, and probably has been for some time.” She shook her head. “The other Circles will revolt on the spot when the truth reaches them. Even if we stop Meredith, the Circles will never stand for this.”

“Anders got his fight,” Aveline said quietly.

“There was always going to be a massacre,” Hawke said. “Ser Karras said that Meredith had called for the Rite of Annulment months ago. All Anders did was bring the violence into the streets.”

“But to what end?” Isabela asked.

“‘Annulment’ is such a nice clean word,” Hawke mused. “Make not be. It hides the truth of an Annulment. All the blood and screaming that has happened every time. But it’s happened to mages and behind high walls, so nobody cared.”

“So he brought their dirty laundry out into the open,” Isabela realized.

“So they can’t hide it anymore,” Hawke finished. “Meredith has been a murderous despot since she became Knight-Commander.”

“The Annulment is mass murder,” Varric said. “Nothing more.”

“We’re going to have to leave, aren’t we,” Merrill said softly.

“Probably,” Hawke replied. “Templars tend to frown on hanging around if you’ve got a couple of apostates with you and you’ve just murdered their Knight-Commander. I’m glad we got you that ship, Isabela.”

“I warned you,” Isabela sighed. “Always have a way out of town.”

“Speaking of which,” Hawke said, perking up. “Varric, did you…”

“We planned for this a while ago,” Varric replied. “Sandal, Bodahn, and Orana will pack what they can, clear out Daisy’s house, and meet us on the _Queen’s Escape_.”

“I’m not leaving,” Aveline said.

“Aveline, you have to leave, you’re known to be affiliated with me,” Hawke pleaded. “And I’m known to be affiliated with Anders. You can’t stay.”

Aveline shook her head. “Someone has to, Hawke. There’s a job that needs doing. I’m the only authority figure that’ll be left in this city. The guard will follow me, and Kirkwall will need a leader.”

Hawke glared at her. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“You’re not the only one,” Aveline said grimly.

“So, Hawke,” Varric asked quietly. “You got a plan?”

“Do I ever?”

“One-eighth of a plan, seven-eighths of a prayer,” Varric said. “You think it’ll be enough this time?”

“I think we’re going to find out one way or the other.”

A shout came from ahead. “Kill him, quickly!” They found a mage cornered by several Templars, and the mage slashed his wrist as the nearest Templar stabbed him, shades ripping through the Veil.

They cut down the shades and the Templars with equal ferocity, and Hawke spotted a blur of grey and blue among the chaos. When the last Templar fell, she turned to find her brother wiping down his blade. “And _what_ are you doing here?” Hawke asked flatly.

Carver gave her a rueful grin. “Supporting my big sister.”

“Your family has convenient timing,” Isabela deadpanned.

“And good hair,” Carver added, leaning his blade on his shoulder.

“It’s not your problem, Carver,” Hawke replied. “You don’t have to mix up in this.”

Carver’s smile vanished, and he gave her a hurt look. “That is a terrible thing for you to say to me. You’re my sister. Your ass is in the fire, I’m here to help pull it out.”

Hawke ignored the burning in her eyes and pulled her brother into a tight hug. “I missed you, Carver.”

“And I you.” Carver drew himself to attention. “Champion, I stand ready to fight by your side.”

“You have grown up, at that,” Hawke said with a smile. “But you’re still not sleeping with Isabela.”

“Hey!”

Carver grinned. “Don’t worry. I won’t steal her away.”

Hawke jerked her head in the direction of the docks, and they set off, Carver falling in alongside her. “Seriously, why are you here?”

“The Wardens wanted to know more about Corypheus,” Carver explained. “The records about him, the prison, everything, were removed from the archives. Not just missing, but removed. That…doesn’t happen. I was coming to ask you to come to Ansburg with me. Then I saw a giant explosion and figured I’d just follow the screaming and dead bodies. And sure enough, here you are.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “I thought the Order was supposed to be neutral.”

Carver snorted. “You remember what our cousin did in Ferelden, right? I’m not here as a Warden.”

More than half a dozen groups of Templars tried to waylay them on their way to the docks, but at their full strength, Hawke’s party took them down with minimal difficulty. Some of the ever-present gangs had taken to the streets to fight the Templars, but most people, long since accustomed to Kirkwall’s odd tendency to catch fire every few years, had locked themselves in their homes to wait things out.

Finding a boat large enough to carry them to the Gallows was relatively easy, despite many boats pulling up their gangplanks the moment the chantry had exploded. Finding someone to take them into a dangerous area was far more difficult until Hawke bodily pitched the man off the boat and had Isabela take the helm.

“Broody, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Varric said as they set off across the water. “Why are you here? We’re going to protect a whole bunch of mages. Thought you didn’t like those. Why’d you come along?”

“Hawke is my friend,” Fenris said quietly.

“I got lots of friends,” Varric replied.

There was a long pause as Fenris stared at the approaching Gallows, before he looked over at Varric. “I don’t.”

The Gallows was in chaos when they arrived. There were bodies everywhere in the courtyard, Templars and mages both. A Templar went sailing through the air to land in a messy, unmoving heap near Hawke’s boots, and she tracked the direction of his flight back to where Orsino was standing, a grim look on his face. His face brightened as he saw Hawke approaching. “Champion! You’ve survived, thank the Maker.”

“And here you are,” Meredith called from behind them. Hawke turned, finding the knight-commander approaching with several Templars.

“Let us speak, Meredith!” Orsino shouted. “Before this battle destroys the city you claim to protect!”

Meredith strutted forward, a smug look on her face and Cullen close at her heels. “I will entertain a surrender, nothing more. Speak, if you have something to say.”

“Revoke the Right of Annulment, Meredith, before this goes too far,” Orsino pleaded. “Imprison us, if you must. Search the tower. I will even help you. But do not kill us all for an act we did not commit.”

“The grand cleric is dead, killed by a mage,” Meredith replied coldly. “The people will demand retribution, and I will give it to them. Your offer is commendable, Orsino, but it comes too late.”

“Your duty was to protect these mages,” Hawke said. “And the destruction of the chantry was the work of an apostate, not a Circle mage. You’re using this as a pretext to Annul the Circle.”

“I’m disappointed in you, Champion,” Meredith replied.

“Give me a moment while I pretend to give a shit about your opinion,” Hawke deadpanned.

Meredith sneered. “So be it. You will share the Circle’s fate.”

“What are you planning, Meredith?” Hawke asked. “How exactly do you think this is going to go after you murder these innocents? The Chantry already knows about your crimes. Do you truly think you will be rewarded for your actions here?”

“I will have contained and eliminated a threat to the city,” Meredith replied. “We have the unenviable task of entering the Gallows and eliminating every mage we find within. My men will harden their hearts, as the magic within you is a disease that, if left unchecked, will spread and fester. My only failure was not doing this sooner.”

“So you kill them,” Hawke said. “And then what? What will you do once the mages are dead?”

“This is not the first time the Right of Annulment has been invoked. We will do as others have done before us – begin again. Kirkwall will rebuild, stronger than before. And the Circle will know _fear_. This has been a long time coming. I am eager to begin.”

“So what is it to be, Meredith?” Orsino asked. “Do we fight here?”

“Go, prepare your people,” Meredith said. “The rest of the Order is already crossing the harbor.”

“This isn’t over,” Orsino growled.

“Yes it is. You simply don’t know it yet.”

—ROTC—

“How exactly did you get here?” Hawke asked.

“I suppose ‘magic’ would be too vague an answer,” Anders replied. “Will it sully your victory to have me here?”

“I need every fighter I can get.”

“I underestimated you, Hawke. I really thought than when it was put to the test, you’d have to kill me.”

“I almost did,” she admitted. “I owed you for Carver, and countless other injuries over the years. Whatever else you’ve done, you’ve been my friend, and I couldn’t turn my back on that.”

“You truly are the leader we’ve been waiting centuries for.”

“Mages must have their freedom,” Hawke said. “It might as well begin here.”

“Thank you for standing by me. We would not have reached this point without you. For everything you did, _everything_…thank you.”

Hawke pulled him into a hug, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I wish you had trusted me, Anders.”

Anders’ eyes were suspiciously wet when she let go of him, and for a brief moment Hawke wondered how long it had been since someone had hugged him. “May the Maker bring us victory. Maybe if He shows His approval, the world will finally be ready to change.”

Carver was waiting nearby, getting wary glances from several of the mages. “You always seem to find a way to make my life difficult,” he said.

“You love it.”

He shrugged. “Never said I didn’t. I should be hunting Archdemons, but…it feels right to be at your side.”

“There’s nobody I’d rather have at my back,” Hawke said. “I may not always have you there, but…you’ll always be my brother. No amount of time or distance can change that.”

“As much as we might like it to,” Carver joked. Hawke punched him in the chest playfully, her knuckles clanging off his breastplate. “I’ve seen a lot of things. The world out there, it needs help. But I can start here.” He pulled her into a hug, lifting her off her feet. “Who’d have thought, huh?” he said as he set her down. “Two nobodies from Lothering. I wish…I wish mother could have seen us like this. I don’t know what she would think about the rest, but…”

“She knew we would work it out eventually,” Hawke said. “Maybe not under these circumstances, but she’d probably just be happy to see us getting along.”

“I’m proud to call you my sister,” Carver said thickly. “That’s gone unsaid too long. I’m here for you, Dana. For this, and whatever else may come.”

Aveline was standing stiffly near the entrance, watching for the Templar advance. Fenris was on the other side of the doorway, watching with equal intensity. “Captain.”

Aveline didn’t look at her. “Not for much longer if this goes bad. We’re in for a mess.”

“I have to ask,” Hawke began.

“Donnic has kept the guard protecting civilians,” Aveline said. “Meredith will have no support from them.”

Hawke’s jaw snapped shut with a click. “Question answered. I know I make life hard for you,” Hawke said. “Thank you.”

“This isn’t the end,” Aveline said. “If you make it through this, you’ll have work to do with the mages you free. If I make it through this, I’ll have to help hold this city together _and_ keep trying to shape up the guard.”

Fenris shook his head. “Here I am, about to defend these mages in hopeless battle.” He glanced over at Hawke with a wry smile. “You lead me to strange places, Dana.”

“What’s one more life or death battle?” Hawke asked. “You’re doing the right thing.”

Fenris leaned against the wall, glancing warily at the mages deeper in the hall. “I’ll take your word on that. If this is it, let me say one more thing, in case it’s the last. You are a good friend, the only one I’ve ever had. It will be an honor to fight at your side one more time.”

“Didn’t you hear her?” Hawke asked, jerking a thumb at Aveline. “This isn’t the end.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “_Na via lerno victoria_. ‘Only the living know victory.’ Fight well.”

Hawke found Varric giving Bianca a check-over. “Nervous, Hawke?”

“Nothing to be afraid of,” Hawke said easily. “We can handle this.”

Varric looked up at her, giving her an annoyed look. “The scary part is when you say that, I actually start to believe it.” He shrugged. “I must be going crazy in my old age.” He extended a hand. “You know me, Hawke. I’m not one for long goodbyes.”

“You’ve had my back every time,” Hawke said softly, clasping hands with him. “Even when I wasn’t sure I wanted you to.”

“And you’ve done the same for me.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s been an honor, Hawke.”

Isabela and Merrill were nearby. Hawke fought a smile as she noticed Merrill clutching at Isabela's hand. "I'll make this quick," Isabela said. "You both know how I feel, and saying anything more would just be…too much. Just know that I’m going to try my best to get all of us out of this alive. I have plans, and most of them involve gratuitous nudity."

"Ah, my favorite kind," Hawke said.

"If one or more of us were dead, that would be really awkward."

“You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be,” Hawke offered.

“I’m not leaving,” Isabela replied flatly. “If you insist on fighting for some principle or other, I’m going to be right beside you.” She scoffed. “It figures, doesn’t it? I finally find some people I want to be with, and the Templars decide to go crazy and kill everyone.” She squeezed Merrill’s hand, stroking Hawke’s face with her other. “Tell me I’m not going to lose you,” she said softly. “Either of you.”

“I promise you, we’re going to get through this.”

Isabela pulled her close, planting a fierce kiss on her lips. “I’m going to hold you to that, Hawke.”

Hawke looked to Merrill, but Merrill didn't say anything for a long moment. Instead, she simply stepped closer, pulling Hawke into a tight hug. "I love you," she murmured into Hawke's ear.

“I love you too,” Hawke said softly. “Whatever happens, remember that.” Isabela hugged the both of them at once, and Hawke pressed a kiss against Merrill's temple.

“Here you are, doing the right thing again,” Hawke teased.

Isabela paused, her eyes widening as she processed Hawke’s words. “Oh, _come on_.” She pressed her palm to her forehead. “I can’t believe this!”

Hawke couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up from her chest. “I feel like I’m forgetting something,” Merrill said. “Or there’s more to do. Or…” She shrugged helplessly. “Does this all feel like a dream to you, too?”

“A bit, yeah. I wish it hadn’t come to this, but here we are.”

“Hawke, before we go, I…” Hawke silenced her with a kiss.

“I know. I know, Merrill. We’ll make it through this.”

“I took a chance on love,” Isabela said. “Don’t you two let me down. Don’t you dare.” The trio shared a final, tight hug, and Hawke swallowed hard, forcing back tears.

“Let’s get this done.”

The First Enchanter was conferring with some of the remaining senior enchanters, but turned to Hawke as she approached. “We have destroyed the phylactery chamber, but that will accomplish little if we cannot escape the Gallows itself. Our one advantage was that most of the Templars were in the city,” Orsino said. “But Meredith would bring every available Templar to this. Even if we win, what then? More Templars would come, with even larger armies.”

“Wait,” Hawke said, realization setting in. “If they’re all here, then…”

Orsino stared at her for a moment before his eyes widened. “Then…_the city has no Templars in it_.”

“Isabela,” Hawke said softly. “How many people can the _Queen’s Escape_ carry?”

“Not counting the crew?” Isabela thought about it for a moment. “Maybe sixty, if we really cram them in.”

“Orsino. How many noncombatants do you have? Apprentices, Tranquil?”

“Thirty-two apprentices and Tranquil. Most of them are hardly more than children. Most of the Tranquil are already in Templar hands.” He swallowed hard. “I dare not think of what has happened to them.”

“And combatants?”

“Maybe eighty mages capable of fighting,” Orsino said. “Many of us have already fallen. Two dozen more that do not have skill with offensive magic.”

“Anders!” The man looked over. “What would you think about freeing a few dozen mages all at once?” Anders’ jaw dropped. “We’ve got thirty-plus apprentices and Tranquil here that need to get out. You know the tunnels. Can you get them out of here, and to Isabela’s ship at the docks?”

“I…I think so.”

“I will give the orders,” Orsino said.

“No. You go with them.”

“I cannot leave you here,” Orsino protested.

“These people are going to need a leader,” Hawke said. “They won’t follow Anders, not if they know what he’s done. But they’ll follow you. Here, and when this is over. Take only the fighters you think you’ll need to get to the docks safely. We’ll hold their attention here. Leave the tunnels open behind you, we’ll retreat that way when we can.”

“That’s suicide.”

“Maybe, but I’m going to take down every Templar I can before I go,” Hawke said. “Meredith, especially. That bitch needs to die. If we don’t make it out of here, someone needs to tell the truth about what’s happened here.”

Orsino looked at her with something resembling pity. “Very well, Champion. Good luck, and may the Maker watch over you.”

“If He was ever going to start…” Hawke muttered, turning back to her companions. “We ready?”

“Yeah, but I think you should say something to them,” Varric muttered.

Hawke realized every Circle mage still in the room was looking at her. “I wish I had something inspiring to say,” she began. “But I don’t have some speech to pull you all together. I’m not a hero. I’m just a person like any of you, just someone who stepped up when it counted. The only difference between us is that I had a chance to use my gifts and you didn’t. I’m not going to lie to you. I’m going to tell you all the truth, even though it’s going to hurt. We’re cornered. The Templars know it. You know it. But this is bigger than their hate, their fear. They’ve taken everything they can from you except your very lives, and they’re coming for those now. They brought this fight to you. They beat you! They raped you! They murdered your friends! Made them Tranquil or killed them outright! And tonight, they find out just what happens when you push people too far. You’re scared. That’s reasonable. I’m not asking you to not be scared. I’m asking you to fight. Fight because you have to. Fight because it’s the right thing to do. Fight because you don’t know how to die quietly. They’re going to come at us with everything they have. With their best. Their best won’t be enough. They’re among wolves now. And these are our woods.”

—ROTC—

_Aveline - The Last Three Years  
Thanks to the Champion’s actions, Aveline and Donnic Hendyr were married a year ago in a simple ceremony. They honeymooned in Orlais, the only time that Aveline has visited the country of her namesake. The pair has since settled into a happy marriage. Although she remains his captain and he her guardsman, Aveline now strictly divides her personal and private life._

_She is no less driven to keep her guardsmen safe, but Donnic provides another perspective, and she is now giving her guard the authority they need to truly serve Kirkwall. As a force for law and order, the guard has never been more respected. This brings its own challenges, however, as some among the Templars would prefer that the guard be under their direct command._

_Her guards could give a Fereldan battalion a run for their coin, and she commands their undying respect, although some in the Templars would prefer that her guard had a lesser presence in keeping order. At the least, they would prefer that Aveline be more accepting of their oversight. Her association with the Champion has helped dissuade them, but pressure is mounting._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	27. Annulment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A whole lot of people die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working without an editor, so if you know the DA universe and want to help me out, contact me at http://wishfulcynic.tumblr.com/. This chapter is un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

_Sebastian Vael  
“In the face of danger, sometimes the bravest thing is to stand back and trust that the Maker will see justice done.”_

_The only surviving son of the ruling family of Starkhaven, which was murdered in a violent coup d’etat. Sebastian could not forget the irony that he still lived only because his family was so ashamed of his drinking and womanizing that they committed him to the Kirkwall Chantry against his will. After initially rejecting a priest’s lifestyle, Sebastian was more surprised than anyone when he realized that his show of faith had turned real._

_Since then, his belief in the Maker and His plan for Thedas were unshakable. Embracing his new role, Sebastian took vows of poverty and chastity to become a sworn brother of the Chantry...until word of his family’s deaths forced him to take up worldly concerns once again. Grand Cleric Elthina, Sebastian’s mentor and friend, hoped to convince him to walk away from the struggle for Starkhaven and return to the good works of the Chantry._

_Sebastian spent the three years after Hawke's expedition into the Deep Roads advancing his campaign to retake Starkhaven, traveling extensively between Kirkwall and other Free Marches cities, attempting to recruit sufficient allies to build an army. With Hawke securing the Hawke family a place among Kirkwall’s nobility, the two crossed paths a few times, but an exiled prince like Sebastian had far better access than Hawke to the viscount and other heads of state. Few families have agreed to support Sebastian with actual troops, leaving him in the difficult position of trying to retake his city with no army._

_After his confrontation with the desire demon Allure, Sebastian had a crisis of faith over breaking his priestly vows to pursue worldly power in Starkhaven. He questioned his own motives, worrying that he wanted to retake Starkhaven for his own personal power, not because it was the right thing to do. Trusting Starkhaven's fate to the Maker, he returned to the Chantry, but was turned away by Grand Cleric Elthina, who believed he had not yet committed fully to either course._

_Though he did not renew his vows or return to his duties as a brother, Sebastian proved a faithful servant to the grand cleric over the three years after the Qunari attack. As Kirkwall grew ever-more turbulent, the grand cleric relied on Sebastian to be her eyes and ears in the often-dangerous secular world._

_Upon hearing of the Champion's intention to spare Anders and rescue the mages of the Kirkwall Circle, Sebastian vowed to destroy Kirkwall in vengeance. He has not been seen since that day._

—ROTC—

The call came.

“_They’re coming!_”

“Aveline, you’re our defensive center. Don’t let one bastard past you,” Hawke ordered. “Isabela, keep moving. Keep them off-balance, keep them confused.”

She smirked. “Sounds like fun.”

“Carver, I need you to keep us from being overwhelmed. Fenris, stay close. Help out when you can.”

“As you wish.”

“Varric, stay out of sight. Pick off targets as you can.”

“Bianca's ready and willing.”

“Merrill, stay out of the fight as much as you can, attack from a distance.”

With the narrow quarters of the halls of the Gallows, the mages had the initial advantage. The Templars were trained to kill mages, however, and despite the casualties the desperate mages inflicted upon them, the warriors were steadily advancing into the Gallows. Their tactics were solid – Cleanse, Smite, and finish the helpless mages at close range with steel, going room by room to ensure they killed every mage they encountered.

“We need to thin out their numbers before we break out of here,” Carver warned as more and more mages fell back to the Harrowing Chamber where the First Enchanter had initially taken refuge.

“No argument there.”

There was only one door in or out of the Harrowing Chamber, which provided a natural chokepoint. The Templars were forced to lock shields and slowly advance, their archers trying to loose arrows over their heads. In the confined spaces, Hawke’s force magic and the fireballs and thunderbolts the other mages rained down reaped a horrible toll on the advancing Templars, ripping shields out of their hands and knocking their men out of formation.

It seemed to last for hours, the Templars throwing waves of troops at them, heedless of their losses. When Hawke, Merrill, and the other mages were low on mana, the fighters would go to work, taking down the Templars while the mages regained their strength. When the fighters were injured or needed to catch their breath, the mages would take over. Mages were falling, hit by arrows or crossbow bolts

“We’re lucky the buildings are stone, not wood,” Carver commented during one of the lulls as the last Templar from the latest wave thrashed and breathed his last on the floor. Isabela had cut his throat, and the pirate was casually wiping her knives down as Varric kept Bianca leveled at the doorway. Hawke glanced down and noticed with no small amount of satisfaction that the dying man was Karras. He wiped blood from his face, looking around. “They could just set the place on fire, let the smoke kill us.”

“Don’t give them any ideas,” Hawke said. “How many Templars can they have left?”

“Some questions we don’t want answered,” Carver said, working a kink out of his shoulder.

Hawke nodded at his arm. “That still giving you trouble?”

He nodded. “It still gets sore after too long a fight. It hasn’t stiffened up afterwards for years, though.”

“I can’t understand why it would be sore,” Hawke deadpanned. “You’re only swinging around a sword as big as I am.”

He grinned through the blood still splattered on his face. “It gets the job done, doesn’t it?”

More of the Templars came, apparently hoping to wear them down through attrition. Hawke’s body ached from the exertion, but she kept casting, pulling Templars off their feet and knocking their weapons out of their hands as they entered the room. The Templars were having to spend longer trying to enter the room, forced to step over their own dead.

“I’m getting low on quarrels,” Varric warned her as he reloaded Bianca. “I think it’s time to break out.”

“Just about,” Hawke agreed.

“They could have just starved us out,” Carver said. “Why would Meredith throw her men into a slaughter like this?”

“Meredith’s not playing with a full deck,” Hawke replied. “Crazy makes you stupid.”

“She doesn’t want to wait, either,” Varric added. “If word gets out about what she’s done here, she’ll be strung up by her own people.”

When the last wave withdrew, Hawke turned to the remaining mages. There weren’t many. “We’re going out the front door to draw their attention. The rest of you, use the tunnels and get to the docks. Collapse them behind you, if you can. Find the _Queen’s Escape_ and get onboard. We’ll get you out of Kirkwall.”

“Thank you, Champion,” one of the remaining enchanters replied. “Maker watch over you.”

Wading through the corpses was difficult, and more than one of the mages behind them threw up during the crossing, but they made it out and cut through the Gallows interior. More Templars were waiting for them, but in far smaller numbers than they had already cut down.

“Good luck,” Hawke said to the mages as they split up.

“To you as well.”

“Everyone ready?” Hawke asked. Her companions nodded, and the Champion’s lips drew into a smirk as she slung her staff over her shoulders. “Let’s go win this, then.” 

They paused just long enough to heal their injuries and catch their breath, and then Hawke led the way out into the Gallow courtyard.

“And now, back to _this_ bitch,” Hawke called. “_Meredith!_”

“And here we are, Champion, at long last,” Meredith said. She had two dozen Templars, including Cullen, at her back, and Hawke kept her eyes on Meredith’s.

“You’ve hurt a lot of people, and the bill’s come due,” Hawke replied coldly.

“I will be _rewarded_ for what I’ve done here,” Meredith said. “In this world and the next! The Maker has guided us here to end your evil!”

Hawke shook her head. “I thought Petrice was a piece of work, but you are truly impressive, Meredith. I can’t fathom the level of self-delusion that you’ve sunk to. Where were you when your Templars raped and tortured mages who couldn't defend themselves?” Hawke asked. “Because I was helping mages escape that nightmare. I made my way into the Gallows. I helped mages get free. And I have spent every day regretting that I couldn't do more, that I couldn't save one more mage. You want to kill me because I had to break a few of your disgusting laws to do it? You go right ahead and try. But you better fall on your own sword next, Knight-Commander, because you have broken just as many laws, and the only difference is I didn't wrap myself up in Chantry symbols and try to convince people that I was a hero.”

“You know nothing,” Meredith snarled.

“I know everything about you,” Hawke shot back. “What would your sister have said about what you've done, what you plan to do?” Meredith flinched, and Hawke's glare intensified. “Your parents hid her from the Chantry, knowing she would never survive in that travesty you call the Circle. And when she was found out, when the Templars came, she turned into an abomination and killed people, including your parents. And from then on you've hated mages, instead of the system that put your sister in that position. How much death, how much blood, years of torture, beating, rapes, and Tranquility, and you still aren't done punishing your sister?”

“I have done nothing but perform my duty,” Meredith snarled. “What happens to you now is your own doing. You were never part of this Circle, and I tolerated that, but in defending them you’ve chosen to share their fate.”

“Knight-Commander, I thought we intended to arrest the Champion,” Cullen protested.

Hawke snorted. “Because I wouldn’t just conveniently die in custody, right? Were you not paying attention the last few times she threatened to kill me, Cullen?”

“You will do as I command, Cullen,” Meredith snapped.

“I defended you when Thrask started whispering you were mad,” Cullen said softly. “But this is too far.”

“Thrask will have to answer for his own crimes,” Meredith ranted. “Desertion! Cowardice! Among my own Templars!” Hawke grinned. “I will not allow insubordination!” She drew her sword, and Hawke’s eyes narrowed as the blade glowed and she pointed it at Cullen. “We must stay true to our path!”

“Andraste’s dimpled buttcheeks,” Varric breathed.

“You recognize it, do you not?” Meredith asked Hawke, drawing the flat of the blade along her bracer. “Pure lyrium, taken from the Deep Roads. The dwarf charged a great deal for his prize.”

Hawke stared for a moment. “Huh. So not all the crazy came from you. You know that thing drove Bartrand insane, right? I wonder what it’d do to someone who’s already bonkers.”

“He was weak, whereas I am not!” She turned to her men, pointing the sword at Hawke. “All of you, I want her dead!”

“Enough!” Cullen barked. “This is not what the Order stands for.”

“Sure it is,” Hawke jeered. “Murdering innocents, right? That’s what you all signed up for.”

Cullen ignored her. “Knight-Commander, step down. I relieve you of your command!”

Meredith’s eyes widened. “My own knight-captain falls prey to the influence of blood magic,” she said softly, rounding on her men. “You all have! You’re all weak, allowing the mages to control your minds, to turn you against me!” She spun back to Hawke. “But I don’t need any of you! I will protect this city myself!”

“You’ll have to go through me,” Cullen said, drawing his own blade and standing between Hawke and Meredith.

“Varric, if you were going to shoot her mid-sentence, now would be a great time,” Hawke muttered.

“Idiot boy,” Meredith snarled. “Just like all the others.”

“She’s lost it,” Varric said. “Just like Bartrand.” He shouldered Bianca and fired, but the arrow ricocheted away as Meredith slammed the blade of the sword into the stones of the Gallows courtyard, red energy blazing around her.

Meredith twitched under the influx of energy, but ripped the sword free and pointed it at Hawke. “Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and _do not falter!_”

At first, it was almost hilarious how everyone piled on her at once. Merrill and Hawke’s magic sent her skidding across the courtyard, and the rest of the party and Cullen gathered around her and began hitting her with various sharp objects. For a brief moment, it seemed as though the fight would be over quickly.

Then there was another flare of the red energy, and Fenris, Carver, Isabela, and Aveline went flying back as Meredith surged to her feet. “Maker, your servant begs you for the strength to defeat this evil!” Her eyes glowed red, and she leapt high into the air, slamming into the ground hard enough to crack the stones.

“What in the _fuck_?” Hawke blurted out.

Meredith drove the blade into the ground again, trails of red streaking along the ground and crawling up the hideous statues of slaves and slavers that ringed the courtyard. There was a rumble, and then the nearest statue creaked, turned, and took a step from its plinth.

“_What_.”

A slave statue dropped from its mount on the wall, and staggered towards Carver.

“The_ fuck?_”

“Hawke, if you’ve got any big ideas, now would be a really great time,” Varric said.

“Anybody on our side hiding any shocking, fantastic abilities they'd like to disclose, I am open to suggestions!”

Carver sighed, giving his sword a spin to loosen up his shoulder and knocking the legs out from under the slave statue. “This might as well happen, my life is already so weird…”

Roots erupted through the stones and coiled around the larger statue’s legs, holding it in place. “That won’t hold it forever!” Merrill called. “Lethallin, freeze it!”

Hawke cast as quickly as she could, ice forming on the statue’s joints. “Fenris, hit the joints! Break it apart!” Fenris’s sword cleaved through the brittle metal, shattering the statue’s limbs as Carver smashed the slave statue to pieces. More of the statues came to life and ripped themselves from the walls, and Hawke’s lip curled as she noticed the other Templars simply standing and watching from a safe distance. “Fucking cowards,” she snarled as Merrill froze another statue. Hawke shattered it with a pulse of force magic, sending bits of metal clattering to the ground. Isabela and Carver were working on the other one as Varric, Cullen, and Aveline took another slave statue to pieces.

There was a blur of steel and red, and Meredith was suddenly among them again, sending out shockwaves of that bizarre red energy. Her strikes were faster and harder than any human could manage, but lacked precision. “The Maker can’t help you now!”

“Joke’s on you!” Hawke shot back, ducking Meredith’s swings. “The Maker has never helped me!”

The woman screamed in rage, swinging her sword like a club and nearly taking Hawke’s head off at the shoulders. She staggered as Merrill hit her in the back with a bolt of lightning, and Isabela’s dagger found a gap in her cuirass, blood flecking the knight-commander’s lips as she coughed out a pained gasp. There was a burst of energy from Meredith, and Isabela went staggering back, leaving the blade in the wound and drawing one of her spare knives.

“I will not be defeated,” Meredith gurgled, managing to raise her sword again. “Maker! Aid your humble servant!”

“_Enough_.” Hawke drew on what mana she had left, cutting loose with a narrow spike of force. She had aimed for Meredith’s face, but the knight-commander raised her sword at the last moment to draw more power from it, and the blade shattered under the impact. Fragments sprayed, several penetrating Meredith’s armor and the flesh beneath.

Meredith shrieked again, and it took Hawke a moment to realize that it was pain and fear in her voice, not fury. Meredith fell to her knees, the energy surging out of control and streaming from her eyes and mouth. Hawke threw a hand up in front of her face reflexively, trying to shield her eyes from the flare, and when it was safe to look, Meredith was unrecognizable. In her place was a wretched, burnt statue of what looked like glowing red stone.

The Templars charged forward, encircling Hawke’s party, and one of them knelt in front of what was left of Meredith, reaching forward as if to touch what remained. The Templar drew back a moment later, recoiling as if from a severe heat.

There was a long, pregnant pause as Hawke glared at Cullen, who had turned on them with his sword held in a low guard. He returned the stare, steady and firm. The other Templars were closing around them, and Isabela carefully stepped in front of Merrill, gently shouldering her backwards.

They had them. Hawke was far closer to her limit than she would like to admit. If the Templars swarmed them now, attacking from all sides in the courtyard, there was no way they would get out alive.

And then Hawke saw it, deep in his eyes. A flicker of fear, indecision. “We killed the last hundred Templars who wanted to have a go,” she said, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice. “How many more of you want to die tonight?” A few of the Templars backed up at her words, but Hawke kept her glare on Cullen. “What's the matter? You only used to murdering children? Weaponless apprentices in the Harrowing chamber?” More of the Templars backed away, and Hawke brought her staff up, pointing it at Cullen. “Call off your dogs, before I kill the lot of you on principle.”

The pause was too long, and Hawke thought he was about to order his men to attack. “Stand down,” Cullen finally said.

“Wise decision,” Hawke said coldly. Slinging her staff, she turned to leave, hearing the rasp of steel on leather as he shifted.

“Champion-” She spun, her armored right fist a blur, and Cullen staggered back. He kept his feet despite the blood spraying from his mouth, his upper lip split and mangled. She grabbed him by the front of his armor, holding him still as her fist came down again into his face. Then several Templars were dragging Cullen away and Hawke's friends were pulling her toward the ferry. “I hope that scars!” She shouted after him. “I hope every time you look in the mirror, you remember what you've done!”

They were crossing the bay when someone asked the obvious question.

“So what do we do now?” Merrill asked quietly, running her fingers through her hair and ignoring the blood smeared in it.

“I have no idea,” Hawke admitted. “But that's not unusual.”

“The past seven years showed that much,” Varric said.

“Hey, I think I did all right!” Hawke protested. A crash echoed across the bay as a burning building collapsed. Hawke didn't turn around, but merely sighed.

—ROTC—

“Where do we go?” Merrill asked quietly as they boarded the boat.

“Good question,” Hawke said, nodding to Bodahn. “I'm not sure where will be 'safe,' if any place.”

“We need a place to lay low,” Isabela said. “The Free Marches are a bad place to be. Rivain, maybe. You all would stick out horribly in Antiva. There's been hints of unrest in Orlais. We can't get to Nevarra by sea.”

“That leaves Tevinter and Ferelden,” Fenris said. “I would not set foot in Tevinter again if you paid me.”

“I know a place,” Anders suddenly said, speaking up for the first time since they had left the Gallows. “It…may not work. For me, at least. But there's a chance.”

“I'm listening,” Hawke said.

—ROTC—

The escaped mages had boarded the ship by the time the sun began to rise, and Isabela ordered the sails rigged, the winds snapping the canvas taut.

“So much for Kirkwall,” Hawke said as the ship began to move. “I have to admit, Varric, I'm going to miss the place.” No answer came. “Varric?” She looked around the deck. “Isabela? Where's Varric?”

“Am I my dwarf's keeper?”

A sudden, horrible realization hit Hawke, and she spun, looking back at the dock. Varric was standing there, and as their eyes met he sketched a mournful salute to her. “No, no! _Varric!_ Isabela, stop the ship!” Isabela didn't react. “Isabela!”

“I promised him, Hawke,” the pirate blurted out. “He made me promise not to come back for him. And to not tell you until it was too late.”

Back on the dock, Varric watched as the ship passed between the Twins. “I'm sorry, Hawke.”

“Why did you stay?” Aveline asked from behind him.

Varric didn't answer, watching the ship shrink into the distance. Eventually, he turned and began walking back towards Lowtown. “You know where to find me.”

—ROTC—

Varric leaned back in his chair. “You know most of the rest, I’m guessing. Word of the battle spread quickly. Most of the Templars that were left fled, either trying to hunt the mages or running from what they had tried to do. The Champion’s name became a rallying cry, a reminder that the mighty Templars could be defied and defeated. She had defended the mages against a brutal injustice, and many had lived to tell the tale. After the events at the White Spire, the Circles rose up and declared their independence. More Templars arrived at Kirkwall to ‘restore order,’ but the mages and Hawke were already long gone.” Cassandra opened her mouth, and Varric pushed on. “I don’t know where they went. I made sure not to know. The Templars tried to take control of the city, but were told in no uncertain terms that Kirkwall had had enough of Templar rule. With no chantry and no mages left for them to hunt, they left.” He shut the book on the table, pushing it away. “So that’s it. That’s the whole story.”

“Then Meredith provoked the Circle,” Cassandra said. “She was to blame.”

“Or that damned idol was, for amplifying the madness that was already there,” Varric pointed out. “Or Anders, for giving her the excuse she needed to try to Annul the Circle.”

“Even so, had the Champion not been there…”

“Kirkwall would have burned to the ground a dozen times by the time Meredith finally snapped,” Varric finished. “She was Champion for a _reason_, Seeker.”

“Why did you stay behind?”

“Kirkwall is my home,” Varric said. “Hawke lived here, but it was never her home. I couldn’t leave. I wouldn’t. And while Aveline could terrify Hightown into holding together, she couldn’t keep Lowtown in one piece. She needed help.”

“I see.”

“So how is hearing all this going to help? You’ve already lost all the Circles. In fact, haven’t the Templars rebelled as well? I thought you decided to abandon the Chantry to hunt the mages.”

“Not all of us desire war, Varric. Please, if you know where the Champion is, you must tell me. She is a hero, a woman that the mages would listen to, someone who was there at the beginning. The Champion could stop this madness before it’s too late. She may be the only one who can.”

“Is _that_ what this is all about?” He shook his head. “In that case, I wish I could help you. But I don’t know where she is now.”

Cassandra scowled. “Then I am afraid I cannot release you. You will have to come with us. The Divine will want more information than this.”

Varric grunted. “About what I expected.” Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “You were never going to let me go. Chantry dogs don’t do that.” He leveled a stare at Cassandra. “Do you really think Cullen is a good recruit?”

“You seem to know quite a bit,” Cassandra said guardedly.

“It was hardly a difficult guess,” Varric replied, before gesturing at her expectantly.

“He turned against Meredith's madness in the end.”

“You mean he was one of them, save for a convenient last-minute change of heart,” Varric spat. “If his trauma from what he faced in Ferelden made him blind to all that was happening to the mages and made him trust Meredith completely, then he would’ve fought Hawke and the rest of us in the end. But he didn’t. So no one can tell me he didn’t realize far earlier that Meredith was crazy and delusional. He knew, and he chose to look away just so that in the end he still had the choice – something that mages were never given – to be the ‘hero’ and not face any kind of consequences. Disobeying and fighting Meredith would’ve required an effort he wasn’t willing to make for ‘just’ mages. But that's what the Divine is looking for, isn't it? A good little attack dog. The man went from a new transfer to Meredith's second-in-command in a year. You can't look me in the eye and tell me that wasn't because he held the same attitudes as her.”

Cassandra did what anyone did when they had no reply – they changed the subject. “I find it interesting that you claim that Sebastian Vael walked away from the Champion, when nobody has seen or heard from him since that day.”

“I don't know what you want me to say,” Varric replied.

“Did the Champion kill him?”

“Would I tell you if she had?”

Cassandra glowered at him. “Suspecting that you lied about that, why would I believe anything else that you've had to say this far?”

“I don't know why you would,” Varric said pointedly, “considering that from the start you've been trying to find some way to pin this on Hawke. You said it yourself that you believed that she came to Kirkwall specifically to…what was it? 'Spread subversion against the Chantry?' And when you hear that the blame for this mess lay firmly with the Chantry, you claim to not believe it? I thought you were the Seekers of Truth, not the Seekers of a Convenient Scapegoat.”

“I am not looking for a scapegoat,” Cassandra began.

“Really,” Varric said skeptically. “You have me beaten and dragged in here, you threaten me repeatedly to get me to tell you what you want to hear about Hawke. You claim that Hawke somehow escaped her home being destroyed, made her way with her family in tow all the way to Kirkwall with nothing but the clothes on her back to cause problems for the Chantry. According to you, she found allies in the city, somehow knew the contents of a thaig abandoned centuries ago that most people didn't even know existed, personally raised the coin to finance an expedition to plunder that thaig, engineered a Qunari invasion, took advantage of the Viscount's death to encourage a mage rebellion, and then put her own life on the line for those same mages, solely in the interest of causing dissent, and you expect me to believe you're _not_ looking for someone outside the Chantry to blame?” Varric's lip curled disdainfully. “You're either delusional or stupid, and I can't decide which. What's more likely? That Hawke somehow had the skill and dedication to push the world to the brink of war? Or that Meredith went too far and Elthina did nothing to stop her, if she wasn't actively encouraging her?”

“There was no evidence to suggest that the Grand Cleric had anything to do with Meredith's actions,” Cassandra protested.

“Besides the fact that Elthina was Meredith's superior and received reports from her,” Varric said. “Besides Elthina being the only one who benefitted from the status quo in Kirkwall.” At Cassandra's questioning look, Varric shook his head scornfully. “Don't you realize? The mages, obviously, were suffering terribly under the Templar's boot. Meredith, increasingly unstable, had to remove them and any other perceived threats to her position, namely Hawke. But Elthina? She was exactly where she wanted to be – guiding a city in perpetual crisis, claiming to be a voice of reason and moderation when she essentially did nothing to contain the problem. She was _in charge_, don't you get it? The Circle, the Templars – both answered to the Grand Cleric! She could have stopped things at any time, but she chose not to. She knew that Meredith had sent for the Right of Annulment, but did nothing to stop her. When the Chantry was destroyed, Orsino was still attempting to reach the Grand Cleric, hoping that the greatest power in Kirkwall could be swayed to his side.”

“You said yourself that Meredith surrounded herself with men that followed her thinking,” Cassandra rationalized. “Elthina could not have swayed them to her side.”

“Elthina could have sent to Val Royeaux for support,” Varric shot back. “For Templars, for official sanction, for anything more than what she did. But she did nothing.”

“That doesn't settle the issue of why I should trust you.”

“Me, I'm dishonest. And a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly. It's the honest ones you want to watch out for, because you can never predict when they're going to do something incredibly stupid.”

Cassandra studied him for a moment, before turning to leave. “May the Maker watch over you during the dark times ahead of us.”

“Same to you, Seeker. Same to you.”

—ROTC—

Cassandra stepped outside into the foggy night, nodding to the two men who were standing guard outside the door. “So, did you…”

“Gone,” Cassandra replied. “Just like the Warden.”

“That is no coincidence,” Leliana said. She wore the same armor that Cassandra did, a set of leather-augmented mail with Seeker heraldry. Leliana was not and never had been a member of the Seekers of Truth, but the Left Hand of the Divine had a considerable amount of leeway in her operations.

“So do we proceed with the original plan, or keep looking?” Cassandra asked.

“It is in the Maker’s hands now,” Leliana said somberly. “We put our faith in Him.” Cassandra gave a few quiet orders to the guards, before the Left and Right Hands of the Divine vanished into the night.

—ROTC—

“I'm sorry about your home,” Anders said. “You'd finally found a place, built a place to live.”

“It wasn't home,” Hawke said quietly, looking out over the ocean. “It never really was, for me. The people who would have made it home weren’t there. Bethany never made it to Kirkwall. Carver never made it to the estate. Mother…” She clenched her teeth. “I moved you in, moved Merrill in, tried to fill the empty spaces where they should have been. But at the end of the day, you all are my family. You all are my home. That house is just an empty space.” She exhaled slowly, trying to center herself. “I guess we need to talk.”

“I guess we do.”

“How many years have we known each other?” She tore her eyes away from the sea, meeting Anders' eyes. “Did you really think, with everything I'd done for your cause, everything that I'd done for _you_, that I wouldn't back you on that?”

“No,” Anders said softly. It didn't sound defensive. “What scared me is that you would.”

It only took a few moments for Hawke to realize what he meant. “You expected to die back there.” Anders nodded mutely. “That's what you meant when you said you didn't want this on my head.”

“I was willing to face the consequences,” Anders said. “I didn't want you to have to face them too.”

“Your plan never would have worked,” Hawke replied bluntly. “Even if I hadn't been guilty by association, I was never going to let them hurt you.”

“I expected you would be the one to strike the blow,” Anders admitted.

“You should have trusted me,” Hawke said. “I trusted you, Anders. Time and again.”

“You've got every right to be mad at me.”

“I'm not mad,” Hawke said. “Frankly, the only one I'm mad at right now is Varric.” She clenched her fists on the wooden railing of the ship. “What was it Elthina said to Sebastian? ‘The Maker gave us a mind and a conscience, and he does not approve when we fail to use them?’”

“Something like that,” Anders muttered. “She could have stepped in at any point, changed the entire situation, but the only thing she ever chose to do was help keep things the same.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “So, what do we do now?”

“I guess we're just going to have to take things day by day.”

“Sometimes, that's all you can do.”

—ROTC—

_The Champion of Kirkwall  
Dana Hawke was a mere Fereldan refugee fleeing the Blight when she arrived in Kirkwall. The daughter of Malcolm Hawke, an apostate mage and Leandra Amell, a runaway noble scion, Dana was the eldest of three children. Her younger sister Bethany fell during their flight from Lothering, and her brother Carver joined the Grey Wardens during an expedition into the Deep Roads._

_Dana Hawke rose to prominence after becoming the Champion of Kirkwall by saving the city from a Qunari invasion, during which she defeated the Arishok in single combat. With the demise of Viscount Dumar, Hawke became virtually the only thing standing in the way of a Templar takeover of the city. Her sympathies lay with the abused mages of the Gallows, and when the situation came to a head with the destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry and the death of Grand Cleric Elthina, Hawke opted to side with the mages against the unlawful Right of Annulment that Knight-Commander Meredith had invoked. The fight at the Gallows ended with dozens of dead Templars, over a hundred dead mages, and Knight-Commander Meredith’s demise as a side-effect of the strange lyrium broadsword she had obtained._

_Shortly after that, the Champion and most of her companions fled Kirkwall to parts unknown._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the end of Rise of the Champion. 233 thousand words in just over a year. I wasn't sure I'd make it, and I'm still not sure I'm going to do an Inquisition story, but I have been working on a new bit for Daylen covering some of the time between the end of Witch Hunt and the start of Inquisition. Sharp-eyed readers will probably have spotted moments where his activities are alluded to.
> 
> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


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